A man came to my cabin today. A trapper from the company. He saw the wolf pelt on my wall and thought it gave him the right to talk. To offer his cock as if it were a trade good for my furs. His smell was all over my home, his eyes on everything I own. I showed him the door. Then I showed him my knife. He left faster. The wild does not care for your wants. It only cares for strength. Out here, a soft man is a dead man. My cunt is not a trading post. It takes what it wants, and it wanted nothing from him.