Using his headlamp to enhance the light at his feet, he ran his fingers gently across the shallow imprints. They cut a straight line in front of him as far as he could see. The soft powder snow crumbled at his light touch, breaking up the tell-tale three-sided markings left in their wake. Shifting his gaze towards the mountains and dense woodland lying north of his position, he smiled wryly.

The prints were still fresh.

He was far closer than he had thought - closer than he had dreamed he would ever get... to those magical, mythical creatures.

He rose to his feet, slinging the 12 gauge back over his shoulder. Running his fingers over the belt swivel points and down the length of the bulging shell pockets, he counted by touch...

One, two, three,... twelve, thirteen, fourteen...and one in the chamber.

He had been hunting the creature for days, but tracking within the dead of winter was always challenging. Daylight was at a premium and he had not yet fired a single shot. His prey was unpredictable and lightning fast, but he wasn't concerned - the three-point sling made it quick and easy to throw the shotgun up when needed. He was ready.

Now, deep within the North, he had long since left the Arctic Circle line behind him, and with it, the last vestiges of civilisation. There were those who lived beyond the line, but not where he was headed.

As he stared out across the vast snow-encrusted landscape, its stark beauty reflected back in the fine sliver of early afternoon. The Polar twilight brought a glowing sky that threw breathtaking purple, blue, and pink hues out across the distant tundra and undulating terrain, but this far north, the experience remained fleeting. The stunning vistas shifted very quickly, and soon the soft light would give way to the stars again, and night would fall. Without a full moon, his world would be plunged into darkness. The land of the midnight sun was as famous for its polar nights as it was for its endless summers, and kaamos had only just begun.

As the nights grew longer, he was becoming more reliant on his headlamp and torch. He knew that the farther north he got, the more sustained the periods without light would become. He would have to be more alert to the dangers inherent in his surroundings. A seasoned hunter, spare batteries already in use, he should have turned back, but he had come too far. The allure of the tulirepo captivated him. Legend had it, only a few people had seen them, and he was intent on bagging himself a valuable trophy.

There was no time to rest - he had to keep moving. With both a shotgun and hunting bow at his disposal, Janne Valo was determined to get his mark.

Some hours later the batteries began to wane in his torch. They had already dimmed in his headlamp to the extent that he could no longer see more than a few feet in front of him. The realisation hit. He was trapped, unable to move safely forward, and unable to find his way back. And then he heard it, the sound of dry twigs cracking and snow crunching softly underfoot, and the panting of an exhausted animal.

He lay down in the snow-covered brush, almost perfectly camouflaged in his white snowsuit. Then he crawled quietly forward on his elbows and knees, holding his breath, so as not to scare his intended target. Visibility was poor and he was just a few feet away, when it came into view, taking him by surprise. He reached down slowly for his shotgun and brought it up into a firing position, the butt snuggled into the pocket of his shoulder. Then he flicked the safety off.

The tulirepo froze, sensing danger, and then turned, fixating its gaze on where Janne now lay unmoving. For a few long moments, man and beast were entranced, unwavering, unflinching, tied together in a moment of reckoning. Thoughts began to race through his head and, overcome with emotion, he fought every instinct that was pushing him to fire the weapon.

It truly did exist! This mythical tulirepo. He had persevered... and now... here he was, face-to-face with a real live firefox!

It began to pace slowly, back and forth, twisting its body, rolling its muscles, never taking his eyes off him. As it brushed up against the undergrowth, Janne was in awe of its majestic appearance. Its jet-black coat began to twinkle in the darkness, taking on the brilliant hue of a midnight sky, encrusted with stars.

Janne hesitated - momentarily releasing his finger from the trigger - the animals' grace and beauty took his breath away. Then it howled gently, a woeful resignation that filled the air with sadness and grief. Its call was echoed a few seconds later by faint cries coming from behind the grassy shrubland. And then he saw three more sets of glowing eyes staring out at him from beneath the brush.

Cubs!

Stunning jet-black cubs - in the image of their mother - crept out towards her tentatively, then weaving slowly between her legs, began to moan and growl softly, looking to feed. The matriarch folded them into herself, nuzzling, protecting. But she kept her gaze on him. Her eyes, soulful, sentient, uttered silent pleas for release.

It was too much for him. He let out an anguished cry, unable to squeeze the trigger, and rolled over to face the sky, sobbing loudly, discarding his firearm to his side. The firefox took the gap, backing up with her family before stealing away into the undergrowth.

It was all over.

The torch flickered and died leaving him in complete darkness. He kicked out at his weapon where it lay silenced, taking on a light white dusting as the snow continued to fall - unabated.

Damn it! ...

_{damn it... damn it... damn it...}

His voice rang out, bouncing off the surrounding cliffs. And now the sheer sense of futility and finality hit him with full force. He would never survive blind in the Northern Arctic wilds, and he had no idea how to find his way back.

The firefoxes heard his cry and bolted, racing across the coarse terrain, tearing up the snow. As they gathered pace, their coats coruscated, and sparks flew from their tails, throwing shimmering snowflakes up into the sky, where they swirled and danced amongst the Heavens. As if by magic, the night sky erupted in a sea of colour, a spectacle of light. A glorious palette of green, blue, and red hues revealed the detail of the landscape below, and to the east, a small village just a few miles away.

The legend was real.

Janne crawled back over to his gun and fired nine successive shots into the air, reloading between each round. Nine shots with evenly spaced gaps: three long... three short... three long.

An S.O.S. A curtain call for salvation.

He had come face-to-face with his own humanity, and he had triumphed. His reward... the revontulet - the gift of the firefox; the blessing of the Northern lights.