"All stories have a beginning, and the story of Colonial Village starts with the worst winter storm in the history of the area. The harsh north winds had been howling all day. Their icy cold anger whipping and tormenting anyone who dared to enter its wicked path. The snow kept falling. falling, faster, harder, heavier with each passing moment. This treacherous winter storm was showing no sign of releasing its frozen grip.
He stood staring out the window of his Trading Post. He had been there for several days now. Waiting. Watching. Watching for his friend who was now two days over due. His fear growing with the ever increasing fierceness of the storm. In that window he stood his vigil, moving only to eat or sleep. Finally, on the third day of his watch a shadow appeared in the distance. Just a tiny speck in the white of the blizzard. At first he thought his imagination had gotten the best of him, that he was seeing something ony because he wanted to. He rubbed his eyes, turned away and looked back several times. The image was still there and slowly began to take the shape of a man. Relief flooded through him as he began to recognize the shape of that of his friend, Silas Notfel.
A trapper by trade, Silas was used to uncertain weather conditions and depended on his keen sense of direction to lead him when maps and directions were not available in uncharted areas (Lefton 2002)."