Read Like A Wolf Eats And Write

He Could Not Play The Game Without Hope; Could Not Play The Game Without A Dream. They Had Taken It All Away From Him Now, They Had Turned Away From Him And There Was Nothing For Him Now...he Was Alone And There Was Nothing For Him.

I Am Happiest In The Brush And By Myself - Whether That's The Woods Of Northern Minnesota Or The Wilds Of Alaska Behind A Dogteam, Picking Through The Foothills Of The Mountains By My Ranch In New Mexico On Horseback, Or On The Ship Of My Sailboat On The Pacific - So I Guess It Made Sense To Me That Both Brian And Samuel Would Find Their Challenges And Adventures, If That's What You Call Them, In The Woods.

And The Last Thought He Had That Morning As He Closed His Eyes Was: I Hope The Tornado Hit The Moose.

He Did Not Know How Long It Took, But Later He Looked Back On This Time Of Crying In The Corner Of The Dark Cave And Thought Of It As When He Learned The Most Important Rule Of Survival, Which Was That Feeling Sorry For Yourself Didn't Work. It Wasn't Just That It Was Wrong To Do, Or That It Was Considered Incorrect. It Was More Than That--it Didn't Work.

I Spent Uncounted Hours Sitting At The Bow Looking At The Water And The Sky, Studying Each Wave, Different From The Last, Seeing How It Caught The Light, The Air, The Wind; Watching Patterns, The Sweep Of It All, And Letting It Take Me. The Sea.