Nautika: panting
Friele: Nautika, slow down. Wait for me.
Nautika: Friele, Aase, come on up! pant We're ... almost there!
She scrambles over steep slopes and gnarled roots, her heavy steps leaving deep prints in the mud, yet her voice remains as light and cheerful as a breeze.
Nautika's Diary: I packed a lantern, canteen, and biscuits, along with Eanu Sven's notebook (though I already had every word practically memorized), and set off to track those miraculous prehistoric tree stump fossils.
Nautika's Diary: A congregation of silent woodland shadows embedded in the soil—witnesses to over 380 million years of history. If fossils could speak, I imagine they'd tell the most wondrous bedtime stories.
Nautika: Look, that ridge matches Eanu Sven's sketches perfectly! We must be getting close!
Nautika: These fossils look almost like palm trees or ferns, even. Totally different from almost any fossil I've ever seen.
Nautika: Look over there. Wouldn't you say they fit the description?
Nautika: Let's go! I have a feeling we're about to make a very amazing discovery!
Nautika's Diary: This marked my first true expedition. I was convinced if we ventured deep enough into the wilderness—kept going until the trees and mountains hugged us—then we would find it.
Nautika's Diary: The Mother Spirit whispered to me, and I followed in the promise of unnamed wonders.
Aase: They're just regular shadows, Nautika. Calm down.
Nautika: You guys wait here. I-I'm going to check ahead!
Friele: Nautika!
Nautika surges forward, sliding down the slope and, despite her stumbling, charging toward the faint promise of a miracle.
Friele: sigh She always does this.
Aase: Stubborn as a spring calf, that one.
Nautika: Aase! Friele! Come on—quick! I found ...
Her little hand waves frantically over the top of a distant hillside—perhaps, they think, she has found something after all.
They follow her up and then down the slope. In the biting cold, their hot breath unfurls behind them.
Nautika's Diary: My great-grandfather wrote in his journal as he traveled along the Mackenzie River that "most expeditions fail to yield what was originally sought."
Nautika's Diary: "The Mother Spirit pities Her children lost in the wilderness. She veils Her guidance in turmoil, reserving it until the end of their journey."
Friele: Nautika, what did you find?
Aase: That's not what I was expecting.
Nautika: She's still breathing, I think.
It's a reindeer calf mauled by some predator. It lies slumped under the roots of a tree.
Nautika reaches her hand out to feel for its breath. It's clear that it's near death.
Aase: She's not going to make it.
Friele: The Mother Spirit will guide her soon. She'll find peace.
She kneels and unscrews her canteen to offer the fading creature a final drink.
The calf convulses as it lifts its neck to gulp the water, its flickering eyes holding both agony and desperate hope.
Nautika: But she ... she doesn't want to die.
Nautika: We should take her back, don't you think?
Aase: Nautika, she probably won't survive the trip.
Nautika: I know.
As she looks down into its black-crystal eyes, she still feels a strength of spirit behind them.
She struggles to lift the calf. Her friends look on, weighing their decisions on whether to help her in her stubbornness.
Nautika: panting
Friele: Here, I'll help.
Even with Friele's help, the calf's weight is awkward. Earth sticks to their boots as they climb, making the burden all the heavier.
Nautika's Diary: That day, we failed to find any prehistoric forest fossils. But on the way back, I carried that dying calf in my arms.
Nautika's Diary: We walked quickly, afraid that we might feel the last twitches of her life with every step. Yet she held on—all the way until we found Áddjá, and together we stitched up the wounds on her belly.
Nautika's Diary: For the rest of the week, my body ached so much I could barely move. I felt like I was weighed down by a very massive weight—but the calf survived.
Nautika's Diary: I have to go back to the mountains, the forests, the glaciers ... I have to find what I failed to find the first time.
Nautika's Diary: They're ...
Rolf: Nautika, what are you doing writing in the dark over there? Come on over into the light.
Nautika: Áddjá!
She snaps her diary shut. It can wait. Sharing with her áddjá comes first.
Nautika: Eanu Sven's notes can't be wrong—what if we missed something? Something huge?
She throws her arms wide to size up the problem, tracing the largest circle she can make.
Nautika: These fossils are different from regular ones, right? So, we need to start looking for them in a different way!
Nautika: It's just like the Mother Spirit said. When a river carves through land, the soil along its banks cradles different kinds of joy.
Nautika: Eanu Sven drew their shapes, but I was too busy looking down at the dirt to realize they were like real trees ...
Silently waiting among the forests, its crown frozen in time. Fallen leaves that once nourished those resting beneath it—millions of years ago.
Nautika: They're tall, really tall! About two—or maybe three meters? Because they were trees first, and THEN they became fossils!
Rolf: So next time, my little treasure should look up first, eh?
He sketches the fossil Nautika just described on a piece of scrap paper. Seasoned researchers like Rolf always have a knack for quick, precise drawings.
He adds a young explorer beneath the tree, cheering in triumph at having finally reached her goal.
Nautika: Wow! Haha! I'll use this to update Eanu Sven's journals, and complete the records.
Nautika: Huh?
She looks down to see the little reindeer calf, now recovered, nipping at her sleeve.
Nautika: Do you want to come with me? That tree where we found you might be exactly what we're looking for.
Nautika: Áddjá, why don't we go together this time? We can bring Aase, Friele—maybe even ask Koht too ...
She strokes the calf's head, already planning her next expedition—the emotions of the previous one lingering at the edge of her mind.
Nautika: Oh, right! And I wanted to sign us up for the reindeer race! I'm going to have to carve you a name tag.
Researcher: Rolf? I've got a letter here.
The little explorer's plans are interrupted.
Rolf: One moment.
Rolf: Nautika, why don't you mark the route on the map? You remember how.
Rolf: By the time I'm back, I expect a solid expedition plan. And don't forget to assign roles to your team—yes, that includes me.
Nautika: Got it!
The door opens, then softly shuts to keep the coming news at bay for now.
Rolf: What are their terms?
The messenger wears a troubled expression, crumpling the document in his hands as he whispers his report to the expedition leader.
Rolf: ...
Researcher: Rolf, do you still want to go? This isn't even ...
Rolf: Of course we're going.
Researcher: But it's not real research! There's nothing there worth dragging ourselves to the bottom of the world for.
Researcher: They're just paying us to be their puppets. We'll be on a leash until we dig up whatever they're after ...
Researcher: Which, let me remind you, almost certainly doesn't exist!
Rolf falls silent for a moment, his eyes glinting with calculations beneath his gray eyebrows.
Rolf: This isn't our first trip to Antarctica.
Researcher: We know that what they want isn't there!
Rolf: But remember those unique strata we glimpsed during our search?
Rolf: The last trip was just a brief stop—we never got a proper look.
Researcher: But ...
Rolf: Listen, between going and never going at all, which would you prefer?
The young researcher is speechless.
Rolf: Nautika never hesitates with that one.
Through the window, they see his granddaughter bent over her map, bobbing her head joyfully as she drafts her next great adventure.
Rolf: We're going to Antarctica. Let's make sure this opportunity isn't wasted.
Rolf: Make the preparations.
