The colors were changing from silver to gold and the sun teased the horizon as Sett splashed down through the rushing stream and noticed the icicles bobbing on the edge of the water. The air was thin and sharp and his fatigue was replaced by a light headed giddiness as the mare plunged up the muddy bank and out of the willows. A tiny meadow greeted them, marshy and deep green with the buds of spring. The grove of white trunked aspen grew out of the stones of the changing creek bed. The water cascaded in a fan, offshoots of the main branch overflowing with the snowmelt. As if a natural feature, the line cabin sat with its back to the shoulder of the mountain, its construction part log, part earth and part stone. Sett rode across the marsh and dismounted at the door. It was stuck, unused and jammed as the logs settled.

SETTLER'S LAW, page 131