About This Novel
The February morning was bone-chillingly cold. Before dawn, a figure flashed across the slopes of the Sierra Mountains. He moved gently like a ghost among the frost-covered trees. The pine needles stung his cheeks like sharp nails. He stopped, carefully pushed aside a branch and looked down the mountain. Through a gap in the forest, the dim lake surface can be vaguely seen. His eyes swept across the lake, carefully determining his position. The hut was still under the cover of night, and only a little light on the other side of the lake could be seen in the distance, like a twinkling star. That light must be at the commercial dock. His destination was not far away. The forested slopes are very steep and extend all the way to the lake shore.
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