It's not sad, really.
Just a tiny splinter,
Like a stubborn leaf in the cold of winter.
Just a tiny splinter in my heart
Across the Alaskan fields, the camera pans to the left in a slow steady rhythm to stop on a herd of Graceland's Caribou, calmly grazing to the left of a bearded man in khakis, we present, "Nigel Thornberry here as ummm…Marriane?". Nigel's narrative trailed off as he saw Marriane fiddling with the camera wearing an annoyed expression. "This stupid film's frozen again, it's the weather, it's too cold for the camera to operate".
"But pumpkin, you know this is the only habitat left for the Graceland's caribou. The area's so small, the caribou are practically crowded into the plain behind us. Other than a small cliff shelter to the east there's been no recorded movement of the caribou anywhere else"
" Ohhh, I know…we'll just need to figure other way to film the caribou" she replied, setting the camera down next to her on the icy cliff, "Maybe there's some stock footage a local wildlife group will let us borrow"
Sitting down next to her, Nigel wrapped his arm around her fondly, "Oh, I doubt it hon, the extreme temperatures keep even the local tribes far away from this area. I doubt many others have had any more success than we hav-waaaaaah!" shouted Nigel in surprise as a tremendous outpouring of wind beat down on them from above, like a hurricane tossed on its side.
"The caribou!" cried Marriane, forearm up defensively huddled next her husband, she was just able to see through snowblinded eyes the Graceland's Caribou run frantic out of sight before even more powerful gusts tore though the camp, knocking her to the ground along with Nigel.
Bucking and waving in the thin snow air, a black Seahawk Rescue Helicopter descended steadily if not blatantly and ungraceful. Spitting ice and semi-frozen rain in a circle, a small snowstorm was all they could see of the helicopter's landing, a loud deep thud made sure there was no caribou in the immediate vicinity.
As the wind died down along with the propeller's whine, the snowstorm settled, allowing Marianne and Nigel to make their way off the ground, composing their winter gear as several figures move around the helicopter, haze still obscuring the view.
"What…are you doing!" shouted Nigel, walking ungainly through the recently deposited snow towards the approaching group as Marriane behind him tried to reassemble the camera in the heavy snow, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to film these creatures!?" yet the men continued moving as Nigel focused on one man dressed in red and black velvet stepping gingerly from the craft while a much older man of grayish hair, combed under a parka, aided him unnecessarily.
"You there, sir! Your men have disrupted over a week of careful, cautious and frankly very cold work on filming the elusive Graceland's Caribou, I must ask that you leave posthaste and much more quietly", finished Nigel, breathing from the cold, dry air sapping his breath.
Nodding lightly, the man turned to the elderly man next to him who promptly turned around himself taking a round flat tin from a red and white icebox, turning back and handing it to Nigel. "Eh…what's this chap?" asked Nigel perplexed, the man smiled wide slightly yellow teeth, "Some well-to-do footage of your deer!" he replied heartily, tapping the tin in time with his words, a fervored blast of air knock the lid along with the film roll inside to the wind just as he finished speaking.
A small silence following, the man continued, "I, uh..I have another of those, just in case". Staring at the man warily with half-closed eyes Nigel asked quite simply, "Who are you?"
"I am Maxamillian Ichor, Nigel Thornberry…and I have a very interesting proposition for you"
Chapter End.