Once upon a time in a small village where the black ravens caw stories from the top of frosty pines and chimney smoke dances in the valley's frozen air, a little boy was born. His mother was of course delighted, and laughter filled the house. As the boy grew, his father, the town physician, taught him all he knew of healing. The boy learned quickly and it soon became clear that he would surpass his father in all measures of skill. He could relieve pain and drop fevers, set bones and soothe coughs. He delivered so many healthy children that women travelled from other villages to see him, though he had hardly reached manhood. This pleased his father greatly, for he was already an old man, and he took much joy in watching his son give such good care to the people of the village.

The boy's mother, not to be outdone, gave him the gifts of story and song. She sang to him of the little red bird that brings the soul of a child when the infant lets out their first shattering cry. She told him of deep snow, and of bravery, and talent, and taught him to listen to the ravens when they spin their tales. And always, she spoke in a whisper of the white bear who comes in the nighttime, the shadow in the winter snow. As the boy grew into a man, he held the stories close to his heart. He watched for the red bird when he laid the wailing infants into their mothers arms. He talked with the ravens, though he never did quite get the trick of understanding when they talked back. And most of all, he watched, ever vigilant, for the shadow in the snow.

Eventually, as things go, the father became ill. His wife was of course sick with grief and worry, and silence filled the house. The young man was busy with the many other sick people who came to see him, but still made time for his father. He would tell him about all the most difficult cases he had seen that day, and the father would laugh and nod solemnly and tell him that he had done well, even as the father slowly became too weak to leave his bed.

One day, the father called the son to him to tell him he was dying. The young doctor felt his forehead, and his wrist, but the father stayed his hand. You have misunderstood, he told him gently. Tonight, the great white bear will come for me. The young doctor shook his head, knowing that he could cure his father's cough and bring his fever down. But even as he explained this, his father smiled. You are young and strong, and you cling to life. Someday you will understand. The son cried out and the father held him close. I can save you, the son pleaded. I am a skilled healer, there are many brews we can try to keep the shadow away. The father merely smiled, and repeated. Tonight the great white bear will come for me. Let your heart be glad.

Once upon a time in a small village where the black ravens caw stories from the top of frosty pines and chimney smoke dances in the valley's frozen air, an old man died. His wife and son were wracked with sorrow, and the house was filled with memories. And yet- had you seen the old man leave with the bear, you might have thought them friends.