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I glanced to Bo and found him watching patiently. Blacked Little by little, my pussy milked the last of his cum. I don’t think so. It protected from rain and snow and offered a level of insulation from cold and wind, but only marginally from the cold except for the fire and bundling under the bear coat. But, I did. Fresh water sometimes meant breaking through the ice or trekking to a source of running water. The fissure was in fact a gap that started about a foot wide at the ground and increased to about 3 feet wide as it went up. By the time my eyes shifted back, all I could distinguish was a blur of soft grey against the white snow disappearing once again in the next mass of brush. But, he was too uncomfortable and scrambled out from under me. Routine didn’t mean that it was a mundane repeating of life day after day. The only tracks in the snow appeared to be those of Bo so I followed the rock face until I came to the fissure. Those things included having fresh water available in camp, an overabundance of dry kindling and wood, and food in the form of nuts and roots for me and a variety of meats for both Bo and me. That was partially behind the routines established for our life, the awareness of the necessities of life, to allow for the light-hearted moments as they came. There were no other tracks or marks. Bo just jumped it and the ground opening was probably wide enough for the very