Hunted the Albino Super Rare Dusky Grouse | theHunter: Call of the Wild

Midday in Askiy Ridge brings no warmth. The sun blinds off snow-crusted pines like a shattered mirror, but the cold still gnaws at the bones. I was halfway to Deadlake’s rim, chasing reports of a restless wolf pack that had begun haunting the locals—tearing through traps, circling cabins, making nights sleepless.

That’s when I saw her.

A Dusky Grouse, resting alone in a small melt-ring of exposed earth, feathers white as glacier milk. Albino. In this country? Unthinkable. She didn’t startle. Just tilted her head like she already knew her part in this story.

One shot.

The stillness cracked. Her body slumped, elegant even in death, blending into the snow like she’d always been part of it. But silence doesn’t last in these woods.

Across the frozen basin, movement. Gray blurs. A low chorus of growls. The wolf pack had heard me—and worse, *seen* me. Eight bodies slicing across the glassy lake like shadows cast in panic. But they weren’t fleeing. They were closing in.

I remembered why I was here.

#theHunter #cotw

#theHunter #cotw

I dropped to one knee, rifle steadied, boots anchored into drift. I whispered a name—*for her,* not for them—and let the trigger fall. The first wolf crumpled mid-charge. Another veered, then met the same fate. The pack scattered like ash on wind, howling curses into the cliffs.

Later, I cradled the albino grouse. Small. Weightless. But somehow the heaviest thing I’ve ever carried back.

Some trophies gleam for their rarity. Others, for what they cost. This one had both.

#thehunter #cotw

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