Right then, settle in, because tonight's story is a cold one. Literally. Minus twenty, give or take.
It's 1978, and we're deep in the forests of Finnish Lapland, the kind of place where you can walk for a week and see nobody at all. That suits our man Henrik just fine. He's fifty-six, a big grizzled Norwegian who spent thirty years in the army. He tried civilian life, didn't like what he found there, and walked off into the woods. Five years on, he lives in a homemade yurt that smells faintly of feet, and his only company is a half-wild wolf called Captain. Captain is not his dog. Henrik will be very clear with you about that.
Then one morning the ravens lead Henrik to something nasty. Someone's been butchering reindeer for their antlers and leaving the meat to rot in the snow. Henrik's an old soldier, and he has opinions about that sort of thing, so he picks up the trail. Bootprints, fag-ends, empty vodka bottles. It's a two-day hunt through the snow, and it ends in a narrow valley at dusk, where things go very wrong, very fast.
It's a story about friendship, about kindness, and about what the forest gives back when you listen to it.
So grab a brew, maybe a blanket, and let's head north.
This is Captain


















