The Fjord Hunt

The northern dawn broke over the Scandinavian peaks in a frigid display of mother-of-pearl, icy lilac, and blinding silver. Before the sun had even cleared the serrated ridges of the Lyngen Alps, a scouting patrol of six heavily customized Arctic snow machines idled in the lower courtyard of Skuggheim. The engines rumbled in deep, synchronized baritones, spewing plumes of white exhaust into the sub-zero air. Freya stood beside Torin’s black…