Northern Ivy

The footprints in the snow were fresh; the hunter knew because it was a windy day today, and even though the snow was soft and light from the storm last night, the contours of each footstep was still well defined. Someone must have walked here just before him.
In all the years he had lived here, alone, he had never crossed a single soul; but nevertheless he was not surprised to see the trail, for he was having this dream every other night since the beginning of the season. In the dream he saw a man walking in the snow, a man of whom he could not see the face. This man wanted the hunter to follow him: he would give him a better life, would bring him to a place where the sun was warm, where rivers and lakes were not frozen, where the trees would not be sleeping and would bear fruits for him to pick. The hunter, in this dream, did not know how he knew all this, since the man was always silent, always walking before him, leading the way, making the trail.
So that morning, the hunter understood what he had to do. He did not pack anything, and just followed the trail. He felt he had to walk fast to get to the silent man; after all, in the dream, he was right behind him. But the hours passed, and the hunter did never seem to get to the man; even in the small clearings and on top of the slopes where he could see far in front of him, he was still alone, and the trail was as fresh as when he decided to follow it. He wanted to stop and make a fire for his cold feet; he wanted to sleep a little, maybe even hunt a rabbit, cause he was getting hungry. But he had to keep on going, he could not let the man go away.
After his second day of walking without stopping, he could not feel his feet anymore, and his thighs were numb. He felt his legs could not support him any longer, and indeed they were beginning to fail: he had fallen a few times already, and each time it was harder to get back up, each time the snow getting inside his coat burned his skin more. But he continued.
The fourth night, the hunter was so hungry and tired that he did not feel pain anymore, and his eyes, they did not see what was before them, only large curtains the color of the trees in the moonlight that seemed to be hanging from the stars. Just when he thought he would die if he fell once more, the trail stopped. It did not go anywhere, as if the man from the dream had just been picked up by the shoulders and lifted from the ground. Wondering what sort of bird would be strong enough to do that, he looked up, and saw the man on a high branch of a tree.
The hunter saw his face now: it was the face of a wolf.
- Hunter, the man-wolf said, you see in the east, the light shimmering down on the horizon? This is the sun rising, and on this path lies what you are after. You must find it before the first rays of the sun touch the tallest of the trees.
- But, said the man in a broken voice, am I not supposed to follow you there?
- No. You must go alone.
- But I feel so tired and hungry... Is it far away?
- I do not know, said the man-wolf.
- I am afraid I will die if I walk one more minute. Will I die before I get there?
- I do not know, said the man-wolf.
- What do you know, wolf-man?, said the Hunter.
- I know that you will die a happy man, Hunter.
So the Hunter turned his head towards the east, and began to walk.