Writing Contest

I run through the dancing snowflakes and frozen trees. My paws engrave seemingly bottomless holes in the feathery snow up to my knees. Heartbeats heard for a mile away, As I wait for Santa’s Sleigh. He is said to rescue me. But white is all I see. I am so cold I would fall to my hands. But that would be impossible because my back already bends. I cannot get up as I am not meant to. It’s much too hard to do. I have only feet. No fingers to pull up the warm sheets. My tail is half the length of me. That’s how it always will be. I have eyes so sharp and bright. They pierce through the night. My eyes close now. The blizzard is like a snow plough. I am now out of sight. The sky is no longer bright. I hear bells chime in the air. Right before life seems too unfair. I feel wind picking me up. I’m my paws is a warm cup. I look down with ease. I no longer see the dancing snowflakes and frozen trees.

Swirling in a seemingly never ending flurry, snowflakes blanketed the land and dusted the trees, in a smooth, continuous motion. School dismissal bells woke Meera, a cat girl, from her daydreaming state. Sighing deeply, she observed as her class mates tousled and tripped over one another in an attempt to be the first to leave their paw prints in the snow. Rising reluctantly, she trailed behind the others towards the door, which would inevitably result in being robbed of her warmth. Leaning her weight into the door, she inhaled sharply as a bold gust of wind ruffled her fur and left her eyes watering. Chilled to the bone, Meera trembled against the cold, watching as the feisty wind chased itself through the crisp air. Joyous shouts rang out amongst the children as they frolicked, wondrous gleams ever present in their eyes. Struggling to swallow against a dry throat, Meera peeled her gaze away from the activities, to begin trudging home in the opposite direction.
Disturbing the flawless snow with her boots, she kicked rowdily, scrunching her face as flakes sprung up to tickle her nose. Peering upwards at the vast, gray expansion of sky, Meera exhaled dramatically, watching as an icy mist fluttered on her breath and then vanished. Whilst fussing over flakes that had settled on her cheeks and teased her ears, she caught sight of something odd. Not a fair distance from Meera were what appeared to be strangely shaped impressions in the snow. Curiosity and an intense urge to discover drove her off her path to investigate. Cautiously approaching the tracks, she knelt quietly before them. Casting her gaze upon the violated snow, she took note of the distinct form. Delicately tracing the tips of her paws over one, her eyes widened in shocked realization: these were the prints of a dragon.
Rigidly tense in movement, Meera rose slowly. Edging forward slightly, she craned her neck. Through a curtain of snow she saw the repeated pattern of tracks leading into the horizon. Gasping at the sight her eyes beheld, the air suddenly felt more chilled than ever. Risen in a menacing stance, the dead and broken trees of the forbidden forest scratched the sky. Meera swallowed a forming lump in her parched throat. Did she dare answer the call of her newly awakened hunger for adventure? Tentative and suppressed in manner, Meera stalked along side the tracks, creating a fresh batch of her own in the process. Nearing the border of the forest, she stopped momentarily, staring gravely at the frost bitten warning sign jutting up from the earth. Grudgingly pushing forward, she closed the gap between two worlds it seemed, arriving in a dreaded and frozen land.
The eerie silence that had settled like a fog was deafeningly loud. Eyes wide and body tensed, Meera gradually lowered her view to the imprints, focusing intensely upon them. Marching stiffly with determination, she kept her head down. Bristling past aggressive thorn bushes and grabby branches was difficult, and nerve wracking. Suddenly a raven sounded his hoarse cry, causing Meera to startle and stumble sideways behind a row of seasoned bushes. Heart beating like a hammer against her chest, she shivered violently, standing upright and dusting the snow off her jacket. A pitiful whimper was uttered from near by, echoing softly off the walls of some burrow it sounded. Meera whipped around with wicked speed, a frightful blend of fear and curiosity flooding her expression.
Before Meera was a cave, a pitch darker than the midnight sky, and garnished with icicles. Frozen like a doe blinded by a headlight, she abruptly crept low, hanging to the ground in suspense. Another unearthly wail drifted from within the hollow. Holding her breath, Meera now crawled, pressing herself to the snowy canvas. Positioning herself only a few inches from the cavern, and slightly to the side, just to be safe, she hollered with humongous force, “HELLLLO?!”. A tremendous bellow burst forth, following Meera’s invasive greeting. Gripping a nearby tree trunk in shock, she wheezed against the shaking ground. Erupting from the cave came a luminescent creature adorned in shimmering, icy scales. With a grip like a viper, Meera squished into the tree, trying viciously to camouflage and avoid the dragon’s vision. Luckily for her, the beast bombarded some thin trees, before pushing it’s massive weight into the air with it's wings.
A single jagged, pearly tooth remained, twinkling in the vast whiteness. Breathing in sharply, Meera tore from her hiding place to gaze in pure awe at the token the dragon had left behind. Grasping it firmly into her palm, she jumped up in a static excitement that warmed her entire being. Racing as fast as she could towards home with her prize, she left nothing, except the subtle turn of a twig, the brushing of a leaf, and snow tracks.

Nico stepped outside, pulling her collar close around her neck. The winter breeze was too much for the kitten, but she had to make it to her brother. She had heard he was sick….
Patting down her coat to make sure she had everything-tea, crackers, soup, extra Dragonscales-she began her journey through the woods. Most of the creatures were in their homes for the winter, but the occasional few ran up to meet her. Bunnies adored the lil' Nico, for she'd give them food and lots of love every time she went by. So, Nico gave them some crackers, and the rabbits ran into their burrows to feed their baby bunnies.
Halfway over a bridge she stopped, looking over it's edge at the frozen river. A fancy noble rodent and squirrel couple were ice skating some yards away, and CRASH the squirrel fell over, breaking the ice! His foot had fallen through and his lil' lady was at his side as helpless as he was. Nico ran over to him, almost slipping, "Don't worry, don't worry!" She helped pull him out and let him have the soup to warm up.
"I'm on the way to my brother's, would you like to come? He wouldn't mind the company. I'm sure he's got his fireplace going." She smiled that sweet smile and they agreed.
She had to use her Dragonscales to get a taxi once they reached the city, and told the driver to "Step on it!" so she could see her brother right away. She ran up the steps and rang the doorbell when they arrived, eager to get her and her new friends in the warmth.
"Brother!" She leapt in the big cat's arms!
"Nico! Who's your friends?"
"Let's get inside! Shoo!"
They gathered around the fire and exchanged welcomes, "I came to make you feel better, Brother. But unfortunately," Nico turned out her pockets, "I only have tea left."
Her brother chuckled, "Seeing your face again is all I need, sweet Nico." He took the tea from her and let it start in a pot above the fire.
"Christmas is made by the people we share it with, not the gifts we bring." He gave them some mugs to pour their tea into, as Nico started to hum, "Bunny bells.. Bunny bells.. It's Christmas time in Furcadia…."

Allianora Ti’Desdicara shivered, her extra fleecy layers not quite taking the bite out of the cold air billowing around her. She wriggled her toes agitatedly to keep them warm; she did not like covering her footpaws, but the hiking boots were necessary in this snowy wasteland. She surveyed the cave they were making camp in for the night- it had the lived in remnants of past expeditions so her guide had said this was safe.
“Lady Desdicara, I’ve found something!”
A young mephit ran up to her excitedly, his glove covered paw holding out a small sealskin package wrapped in twine. Allianora nodded a quick thanks to him before removing a glove and delicately picking it open; she did not wish to damage the contents. Inside was a small leather bound book.
“Thank you Gianno, that will be all for now. Please ask the others to make haste in setting up camp, I think we could all do with a good rest and feed. I’m not sure we’ll get rest for a few days again. I’ll start the fire and begin to cook some of the fish we caught”
Gianno smiled at her and pootled off to help the others unload the great waxed fleeces from the wolven drawn sleds. It was a sign of great respect to the family that the ferian pack had agreed to help in such a way. Their Alpha Zersage was one of the wisest of all the ferian leaders, and had fought in many a great battle. He was a kind soul however, and had been a part of Allianora’s life for as long as she could remember. She had fond memories of riding on his back as a furling, him bounding along with his great barking laugh whilst she giggled and clung onto his fur. She watched as he shook his fur out, tending to his pack. He noticed her looking, and padded over.
“What is that you’ve got there Little Two Legs?”
That had been his pet name for the anthrowolf and she smiled at him.
“Well Papa Four Legs, I haven’t looked yet”
He rumbled goodnaturedly at her as she looked closely at the faded leather. She gasped, noticing the coat of arms of the Desdicara clan! With shaking paws, she opened the slim volume. It was a journal. Tears began to gently drip down her face as she noted the familiar handwriting…
~
Perhaps it would be prudent to explain what a young femfurre of notable status was doing in the frozen Highlands of Kasuria. Her Father, Amadeo, leader of the noble House of Desdicara had embarked on a journey to examine the area where the Mysterious Cold occurred 150yrs ago. The family begged him not to go, Allianora’s mother Duchess Edrea was sickly, and her older brother Alfredo was a fool. Theriopolis was in a period of calm, and one of the great houses becoming weak would not bare well for Kasurias political situation.
Amadeo would not listen. He was well respected in Theriopolis as an academic as well as a great leader. He was not convinced by the myth that the Prime Vivveravus caused the great cold that had stopped the attack from Drakoria. He was on a ‘quest for truth’.
This had been 2 years ago now, and there had been no word from him for the last year and a half. The family was in disarray, and the Desdicara estates were becoming restless. Alfredo was too busy drinking gallons of wine, and Edrea was finding it diffcult to reign in her husbands loss. If Amadeo did not come home soon, Allianora would be forced to marry Baldassario, a greasy haired smug eldest son of the great Pala household. She would rather die. Thus Lady Allianora had taken the only action she could. She had stolen her dowry, secretly organised a trip to track her father with her manservant Pedro. Zersage and his pack had come to help her. Thus 4 months ago she had left a note for her mother explaining what she was to do, and had snuck out of their Theriopolis mansion in the dead of night, her hired help being gathered along the way.
~
Zersage cocked his head
“What have you got there Allianora?”
Her paws still shaking she flicked through the journal, finding a separate piece of parchment tucked into the back.
“This is my fathers…”
She began to read the writing on the front of the note out loud, Pedro, Gianni and the others gathering round.
“To whomever finds this journal, I hope you can pass it on to my dear daughter Allianora. Upon it’s safe arrival, in her paws only, note unread, she will pay you handsomely~Amadeo Ti Desdicara’”
Allianora cracked open the wax seal of her father and continued to read, her voice becoming stronger with each line.
“Dear Alli,
My daughter! Oh how I miss you all! 3 months of smelly fleece and fish makes one miss home comforts! Your mother, how I long to be in her arms again. I hope she is coping alright, and her illness has passed. I hope that fool son has done his duty in ruling our lands.
Alas, I have began to doubt that. It is not until one is far from everyday reality that one truly reflects upon their life. Your brother has become pompous and selfish. I indulged him far too much. The other nobles will surely plot against him for his dishonourable acts. He is so sodden in wine that he is off guard. I worry that you will be forced to marry that dolt Baldassario, and the lands of Desdicara will be absorbed into the Pala household.
Thus I want you to come find me if I am not back within 18months, as I think longer will put a serious strain on the family. Steal your dowry, and plan in secret. I know I can trust you to do this; you have always been the strong one of my offspring, and I wish you’d been my heir. You’d be a better head of the family than even I.
Zersage will help you if you ever ask, his kindness to our family amazes me still.
Remember that story I used to tell you as a furling? The one about the boy and girl who dropped breadcrumbs in the forest so they could find their way home? It was whilst I reminisced about those happy times on hunting trips, where we joined Zersage and the cubs and sat around the campfire telling stories that I got the idea of this. It’s not quite breadcrumbs, but I will leave a trail for you. Each time I finish a journal, I’ll leave it for you, with directions of where to go next. If anything were to happen to me, you will at least know, and you can flee back to Theriopolis to save our family.
Take care my darling daughter, and kiss your mother for me.
Your loving father,
Amateo Ti’Desdicara.”
Zersage sat, his tail wagging gently, an approving murmur echoing round the cave. Pedro bowed his head to her, and the others all followed.
“We will follow you to the moon and back my Lady. You can count on us”.
The rest of the men and women nodded. A sense of warmth and gratitude filled Allianora’s heart. She knew that she was going to save her family whatever it took, and however long it took. She would not let her father down.
“Let’s rest, we have a long day trek ahead of us.”
She paused and smiled.
“Tomorrow, we follow some breadcrumbs”.
~The End... or possibly the beginning?

I could see them in the fresh snow. These tracks of someone on my land. Slipping into my warm clothing i decided to find out what is going on. Slowly i walk out following the tracks. Slowly i travel into the forest ducking the tree limbs as well as the snow drifts. The tracks leading further into the forest. As i follow the snow becomes heavier and slowly i began to lose track of those tracks that lead me out here. Continuing on into the forest trying to find what it is he needed to from those tracks so delicately made within the snow he travels on seeking. Stopping as the evening wore on to make himself a fire knowing that before too long he would lose the tracks in the night. Making a clearing and finding some wood to begin the fire with he settled in for the night.
During the night the snow came down hard though he stayed warm with his fire going. That morning he saw tracks again heading back towards his home. Following quickly he found that they were fresh as he works to catch what it was coming to his home. Upon returning to his home he found the tracks lead right inside his front door which he forgot to lock the day before. Finally entering the house he sneaks around hearing noises from the kitchen. Rushing there he screams to scare what was there.
What he found was a small child in very little clothing eating his food. When he screamed the child fell down screaming in her fear that she would be hurt. Seeing the brand of a house slave upon her wrist he softened and began cooking for her and feeding her. Had he even thought what he would find in the wood following the tracks it never prepared him for this. In the end he was the one surprised as life provided for him a daughter to love and cherish. Thanks to those tracks in the snow he now had someone to share his food and home with. He purchased her that same day. Giving her freedom life and happiness as he had been given thanks to the tracks in the snow.

He ran his paw over the edges with a slight frown, as the wind picking up caused it to obscure even before his very eyes as the biting cold began to settle. He flexed his fingers before straightening up from the crouch, and shifted his grip on the hand-hewn spear to a more ready position. The blizzard did not seem to phase him, and rightly so, given both the thick fur he naturally possessed and the many layers of pelt, treated leather and wool that made up his clothing from the floor-length cloak with a grinning wolf skull decorating the right shoulder to the fur-edged boots keeping his footpaws warm. He paused only to tie back his hair, keeping the thick curled strands of black away from his features so as not to hinder his line of sight. His muzzle twisted in a brief grimace, before he pulled the hood back up around over his ears. The winter’s bite had become more vicious over the years, and the tribes hunters like himself were starting to have to roam further from their natural territory to find enough to keep them throughout the winter. But his scowl deepened, and he forced the memories of the more recent years out of his mind. He would succeed or, he thought grimly, die trying. There was no shame to be had in that. His eyes remained on the tracks...
“Papa, what does that one mean?” He looked up at the silver-haired leopard, who attempted to look gruff for a moment before his expression softened. Father never seemed to stay mad for long, and had more patience than he let on to his only son. “That is made by one of the snow-kin. A great bear, white as the falling crystals and tundra, that we hunt only when we have to. He is patient, and wise, and will lead a man many miles before letting him kill him. He tests us.” He looked down at the print, at the size of it, the claws... and placed his own far smaller handpaw into the depression. “Has he killed any of us?” “Of course. But he would not be how he is, if he did not. He is a teacher of bravery and perseverance.” “Will I get to learn from him?” The pause, oh, how he had translated it as mere thought then when it was tainted with worry. “In time...”
...before finally, through the near diagonal snow grey against the white of the clouds, the sight of his quarry was caught just as he forced himself up over the ridge and the shelter it offered from the worst of the mild storm. The bear, one of the snow-kin, almost seemed to know he was following. Looking over its shoulder, he saw a black nose and dark round eyes almost boring right into his own, and he felt his breath catch in his throat in a way that was nothing to do with the cold clenching around him. But as hunter met the hunted gaze, as soon as the moment had came, it passed as it let out what almost sounded like a low, weary groan before leading him yet further into the open cold. Why, why didn’t it just stop or even speed up so he was doing something other than following? He had to get it, he had to. Morals for those they trapped be damned for once, the survival of his family depended on him. He crouched down slightly and settled his pace into more of a loping run, keeping just enough distance between them that could be broken by a thrust of the spear, but out of range of those terrible, curving claws like those on his necklace. The monster’s fur would become a coat for his wife, the bones made into toys for his children... and the skull would be dedicated to Danival, mistress of beauty, aesthetics and the music and dance that kept the lives of the cave-dwellers going and spirits high in the coldest of months. A strange deity perhaps for them to choose but so far as he knew, that was how tradition had been for centuries. Then it finally began to change course, as the craggy tips of snow-brushed rocks began to protrude from the tundra with more regularity. Foothills, and he felt the wind begin to die down even now from the shelter they offered.
The going began to get more difficult, as he skidded partway down a ridge that had looked deceptively stable from his former position. He grunted as he wanted, squinting to keep his eyes on the tracks leading the way. One step at a time, the ursine had not picked up his pace and had kept up the slow, lumbering walk that was just irritatingly out of sight’s range. He restrained a growl of irritation before picking up the pace, his own tracks diverging over those of the prey he was stalking, blurring the edges. To those who would come to track him in turn, predator and prey seemed nearly indistinguishable. Then he stopped. The air stilled almost eerily so, and his hand compulsively tightened on the spear's leatherhide grip as he brought it around, lowering the burnt tip as he edged around the corner. He peered around the edge of the rock, then both brows rose yet again in surprise. What the...
The bear, magnificent shaggy and white, was stood facing him just beneath the overhanging lip of a cliff. Behind it, if he squinted, he could just make out the faint charcoal blurs of figures and pigmented dyes daubed onto the walls. Scenes of the hunt, scenes from his people's past. The God grunted then, blinking at him almost blindly as a rounded eartip flicked this way and that. But then his eyes widened, as around him, great arches of borealis-like colours spread out... rushing along the snow like the waves of the sea he'd only seen once in his life, erasing their tracks behind him. How would he find his way home with them gone? There were no storms due, he would have been able to trace his route back. The colours faded out of sight, and then as if on some predetermined cue, the bear reared up.. seven, eight no.. ten foot high to his six, all muscle under shaggy white fur streaked with creams and darker greys, black on the snout. Parting those jaws that had seemed set in such a harmless look before, a wicked set of curving teeth made for the kill soon became visible. Instantly, he was on the alert. He crouched, ducking beneath one of the weighty paws that probably would have broken his skull had he been in the way before jabbing the spear up towards the sternum. He missed, but scored along its neck instead. A growl, edged in a pained sound that soon turned to one of anger, came from the animals' throat before it lowered itself to the ground.. paused then charged at him. He sidestepped at the last moment, skidding, sending up a spray of loose snow before letting out a fierce yowl paired with a yell and stabbed the spear forwards. The roar turned to a low groan, and the ground shook as the bear's weight hit, shuddering slightly.
Panting heavily, he pressed down on the scratch marks on his right upper arm and looked at it. Danival's festival would be celebrated well. The fur, a cloak. The bones, toys. The skull dedicated to the musteline of beauty, the lover of music and dance who protected them as they sung in her honour within the warmth of the caves.

Snowfall and snowdrifts; somewhat of a strange delight for frozen furlings, as they stare from their desks, ignoring their history, maths and science lectures. Inside, their tiny hearts pound against their fluffy chests, eager to race and slide from the ancient building and into the unbroken snowy white-land that lay before them. The hushed whispers began to circle the room until an excited hubbub emerged; "I'll make the first tracks!" "No, I will." "I'm going to walk out early to do it!" With a heavy, but knowing sigh, their teacher - noble by class and looks - placed down the factual book she was attempting to quote, and nodded with a smile to her class, signalling recess.

The uproar was immense. The screaming furlings raced from the warmth of the classroom in a huge bundle, grabbing their coats, hats, scarves, gloves and snow boots, before darting to the door of their educational enclosure. Slowly, the stiff exit opened with a rustic groan, permitting the falling flakes of snow to drift into the thin hallway, attaching themselves to the fur on the youngsters. An icy chill ran into the passage, forcing the infants to shiver with cold and excitement, as their sparkling eyes glare upon the untouched pearly ground. Deafening cheers, yells and shouts boom around the crystal courtyard, as hundreds of little prancers raced onto their playing area, their thick boots leaving small imprints in the feathery snow.

Dances, prances, running, skipping, playing, fighting, sliding; the fifteen minutes of fresh, cold freedom where the young ones escaped was a fun-filled and beautiful break from the constant absorption of knowledge. Furlings alike wished that this little amount of time would never end, and the play to last forever, giving them the time and imagination to do as they wished, and dream more than ever before.

Alas, the fun must fall to a disappointing end, and the excitement must die along with the vivid imaginations that accompany it. As the shrieking whistle blows to call in the students, the sadness winds it's way onto their once so happy faces. Solemnly marching back into the building, their strong footwear squelching in the mashed snow, the young ones frown, removing their boots, hats, scarves, gloves, coats; shaking their snow-covered fur free from the icy, damp flakes before sitting back in their humble classrooms once again.

As the learning continued, each little head turned to face the nearest window, gazing upon the ground they had been laughing upon just moments before. The tracks they left created memories; happiness. They followed their own footprints to the slide, back to the swings, running in circles in the middle of the yard, following that snayle child, who left the slithering trail behind him, each trying to single out their own. They imagined - in their young minds - of what flying mythicals, birds and others above would see if they gazed upon their playground. Would they smile upon the happiness they felt? Would they recognize the fun they had?

As fate intervenes, it happens that a lowly gryffe was flying over the tops of the school, returning home from buying reserves for the winter time. After gazing down, she couldn't help but stop and marvel at the ground below. A smile crossed her face, hidden under her magnificent beak. She knew the fun and happiness the young furs had; she knew how much they longed to be out on the snow once again. Viewing the school from above, she could also see how much they loved their winter time and longing for the holidays, even if they couldn't see it themselves.

Flying on home, the gryphon kept her smile of what she visualized at the school full of furlings. In the back of her mind, she kept it as a memory, ready to draw and paint the exact replica when she returned home. She adored the memorable tracks of the winter time and the subliminal messages left in the snow ground-furres walk upon. As she landed onto the ground herself, she left tracks of her own, sadly knowing that they would be forever gone by the next snow fall. Entering her home, she placed down the plastic bags she had been carrying and skipped to her study. There, she placed up the canvas and began to paint the picture she had stuck in her mind so vividly.

After a great blizzard through the night, the dawn broke with skies of cold white flakes and the crackling sound of the radios playing. Cheers from the furlings echoed through the streets as their schools were announced closed over the digital box. The gryffe, holding a large coffee in both clawed hands, looked out of her window to view the playing creatures, throwing snowballs, making snow-angels, building snowfurres... And that avian creature smiled, turning her head to look back at the painting she had created the night before, completing it in the early hours of the morning. The canvas showed the old school, the new tracks, and the falling snow. Everything was as she saw it the previous day, flying over at that moment in time, capturing the image as if it was a photograph.

In the tracks that the furlings left, through the playing, the skipping, the running and ultimately having fun, was a visible message that even they didn't know they left. That message warmed the heart of the gryffe when she paused that day, even more so when she lifted the painting from the easel and placed it upon a reserved space on her wall. There, was the school building, with a snow covered roof. There, was the grassy road, where equines trod. And there, most importantly, was the courtyard where the message was displayed. Clear as crystal, and from the furlings' feet themselves. The message was simple and effective, as none of the pupils or teachers of the school would have known it was there, unless they flew over themselves.

"The message," beamed the gryffe to her quizitive mate, who gazed upon the painting alongside her, "Is Merry Christmas."

I sat out side on Chrismas eve, the wind was blowing the light fluffy snow. I looked around, in the snow I saw prints, reindeer prints? " No it can't be..." I stood up and followed the prints, my days of childhood were over. I no longer had my childish ways of getting gifts from Santa Paws. But these looked like prints I've seen in the "Night Before Chrismas" and "Santa Paws is Comeing to town." I followed the tracks around pine trees, my bare feet turning red. I finaly relised I was following my own tracks, going around this grove of trees 3 times now. I was lost, but then I picked up the trail, Running I stood at the door of a cabin, I heard laughing. I reached out, turned the nob of the door, and a burst of hot air hit me. I looked at who was in there, and guess what! It was my horse friend Frosty all along, I was sad that it wasn't Santa Paws, but theres always next year!

The cold and the dark were fiercely allied that night. Father had not come back, and it did not take two hours to fetch firewood. The storm had taken out the power, iced over the roads, but now it was still and quiet. Still and quiet as death His mind echoed, and he tried to shake off the rather morbid though, but it was a night for such thoughts, and worse. Trina had fallen silent at last. Her whining, about the cold, the dark, and being scared had worn on his patience, although partly because he felt the same, and kept it all to himself. She was younger than him, three years younger, having just turned ten. She was still a 'child' and as far as he was concerned he wasn't. But it was dark, and the small flashlight he carried seemed all the more feeble. The trees which had been perfectly innocent in the daylight seemed ominous now. They reached long bony fingers, snagging at clothing and hair. The wind blew over their barren branches and the moans and rattles twisted into vile whispering threats. The real fear took hold however when he saw his father's hat, laying abandoned in the snow. His father's tracks, which they had started following about fifty foot back, quickly became further apart. He had been running. But from what? There were no predators here larger than the occasional lean coyote. The tracks that merged with his father's were long, twice the length of his father's footprints and narrow. "I wanna go home." His sister whimpered, sniffling. Her nose was red from both the cold and her crying. He wanted to as well, but a thought occurred to him. His father had been carrying an axe, father was brave. What if he had been chasing off whatever it was, not running from it? What if that thing, or others were still out there somewhere? seeking fresh blood, maybe it likes to eat children. What if his father had gotten hurt? Torn, he stood in place for a moment, the hold his fear had on him tightening like a noose. It was the whimper that turned into a keening cry that snapped him out of it. "Go home then!" he snapped. "Walk back, I'm gonna find dad." He took off, fueled somewhat by the burst of spite. He knew she would follow, and she did, running to catch up. Father was laying in the snow, on his back, twisted at a strange angle as though he had been trying to make some demented snow angel. The blanket of white, was interrupted by spatters of crimson. Orsan's insides went cold. He tried to call out, but no sound came, he tried to move forward, but couldn't. Trina screamed, and broke into a run. "Daddy!" She ran full tilt, pitching over once and scrambling to his side. Finally Orsen lurched forward, reaching out a hand towards her. Numbly he knew they had to get out of here, they had to leave. He finally got close enough to see his father's face. Mouth open wide in horror, empty eyeless sockets staring out. At last he too began to scream. The creature that seemed to burst out from the surrounding darkness itself was unlike anything he could have imagined. His childhood boogeymen and monsters under the bed, the horror movies he had secretly watched when he wasn't allowed. They all paled in comparison. It loomed on slender knobby legs, it's body emaciated, only a faint mockery of a human shape, its flesh, pallid. It's long arms nearly trailed the ground. Its face, almost human but yet not, elongated with black dull eyes, a tiny mouth full of needle teeth. It stretched its long fingers out, fingers like the branches of a tree, and snatched up his sister. And then it turned towards him. For what remained of his days Sheriff Donall would regret not being faster. He would regret sitting back down to have another cup of coffee, talking to Ron Peterson. The conversation had gone on for another thirty minutes, and it was that thirty minutes that made such a difference. Truthfully he was reluctant to drive out and check on some of the farmhouses that had been without power for the past three days. He needed to, but he thought at the time 'What will another half hour hurt?' He took another officer with him, just a rookie, but he had someone else along at least, and the two headed out on snowmobiles. The Johnsons were fine, as was the McDaniel family. Old man Sanders was, surprisingly enough perfectly fine and didn't seem to understand what all the fuss was about, and wanted to tell him stories of how bad the great snowstorm of 1940 was. The Sheriff politely declined. The Morrisons were alive and well but seemed worried. They claimed they could have sworn they heard screaming, but also said that 'it could have just been the wind' Donall hoped they were right, and he and his other officer braved the freezing cold once more. He topped the hill overlooking the final farmhouse just seconds after Orsen Wallace was yanked into the air by his face. Sheriff Donall saw the thing, the creature clear as day, lit up by the headlights of the snowmobiles. It had to be at least nine foot tall, and he only saw it's face because it took its mouth away from the boy's head, teeth like needles, and it looked right at him. It dropped the boy like a ragdoll, and fled, bounding on long too thin legs. He could have sworn he saw something clutched in its other hand. Orsan was rushed to the hospital, deep in shock, and missing both of his eyes. Had their not been two witnesses that had seen the thing, it would have been assumed some sadistic freak of a human had cut out his eyes and kidnapped his sister. There was no trace of Trina Wallace, or the beast. Henry Wallace was dead, eyes missing and spine broken. The snows came again the following night, making hope of finding anything even more dim. He talked to the boy once he was awake and speaking. Orsan asked about his sister, over and over. And he spoke of the tracks, the long narrow tracks in the snow. The papers said nothing of any sort of monster, only that Henry had been murdered, his daughter taken, and son was in the hospital but 'recovering' The Sheriff knew better, that boy was not going to recover, any more than he was going to grow new eyes. The rookie that had been with him that night quit and moved out of state. Two weeks had passed since that night, and the snow was almost gone, merely a slush mixed with mud in patches on the ground. Donall, was home at last after another endless search for any clues as to what might have happened to little Trina and the thing that took her. Tired, his nerves shot, he stepped out onto the porch, where he kept his cooler. He was just reaching into it for a beer, when he spotted the long narrow tracks in what was left of the snow.

Four legs. Three large claws on each foot. Short, heavy strides. An occasional glistening, black feather. A clear but all-too-temporary trail left in that afternoon's fresh, crunchy snow.
Cass was getting nervous. The day was waning behind her, the light slowly turning orange as the sun threatened to set. She was not far from home, but spending the night in her own backyard was a risky proposition. She lived out here because she loved the wilderness, yet she was keenly aware that the wilderness did not necessarily reciprocate.
But it was snowing again. She was going to stay inside when she first spotted the tracks, but when she saw the snow falling she couldn't resist. Snow accumulates quickly, and tracks like this are never this close, this available, this fresh. Her hunting instincts would not let her watch the tracks disappear under the snow.
So here she was, tearing through the woods with nothing but a satchel that held a pencil, a notepad, a hunter’s knife, and some cookies. The wind turned suddenly and whistled in the trees. The air was crisp and cold, the snow crunching loudly under her feet. The noise would almost certainly attract predators after sundown. Actually, it might be attracting them now. She forced herself to concentrate on the tracks. Her focus was only occasionally broken by her breath, plainly visible in the cold air as she panted, scrambling to find the maker of the tracks.
Funny thing about snowfall in the woods. It hides a lot of holes.
Cass sucked her breath in through her teeth, suppressing a yelp. Great. Of course she would twist her ankle on a hole in the ground. That would be exactly her luck.
She found a nearby tree trunk and clawed her way up it, nursing her left hindpaw. The pain wasn’t too bad, but it was bad enough to hinder her, bad enough to halve her walking speed. A ten-minute walk back had suddenly turned into a twenty-minute trek.
She looked back towards her house. Best to turn around now, to call it a day and go nurse her hurt paw in the comfort of her warm home. She could even have hot cocoa with marshmallows and everything.
But, tracks.
Cass limped forward, following the tracks. They were distinctly shallower now, partially filled in with snow. Or was it just that the sun was setting?
Of course, the sun setting was its own problem. For example, the hungry nocturnal pack-hunters making that clicking noise would probably stop skirting around Cass and go in for the kill. She couldn’t really blame them for thinking that a limping, nervous canine would make easy prey. In fact, they were probably right. But just as she was bringing her knife out of its sheathe, something, or rather nothing, caught her eye.
The tracks she had been following stopped abruptly, only undisturbed snow visible beyond the last step. No piles of snow from recent digging. No wingtip marks from a vertical takeoff. No claw marks on nearby trees from climbing. Just pure, white, flat snow.
Too flat. Not a single leaf on the ground, not a single indent or hill. Cass limped a step towards the last track. Immediately she was overcome with complete, overwhelming fear. Her first response was to want to go back, face the pack-hunters, let them attack. The fear of death she had experienced only seconds before was nothing compared to this.
Her paws trembling and her fur stood on end, she forced a grimacing smirk. Typical illusion defense. She inhaled unevenly and gulped, summoning her will to force herself to limp another step. Unfortunately, knowing what it was did not help.
Emotion barriers were only slightly easier to maintain than ignore barriers. It wouldn't, couldn't last for more than a few feet. She shivered, limped another step, and relaxed as the fear eased. The clicking no longer surrounded her, but she did not allow herself to look back at her would-be hunters. Still focused on the ground, she walked forward several more steps before looking up.
On second thought, perhaps she shouldn't have relaxed so quickly.
The black-feathered illusionist looked supremely annoyed. It flicked its tail a-rhythmatically, its ears laid flat against its skull. It snorted at her. Most dragons were, of course, less than happy about intruders, but illusionists especially disliked knowing their illusions had been broken by a mere furre.
Cass gulped. No turning back now that it was dark. Despite the dragon in front of her baring its teeth, this was probably the safest place in the woods. But no matter how many times she did this, it never really got any easier. Here goes...
“Good evening! I’m Cassandra, journalist, naturalist, and all-around friendly furre. I work for Dragons Unlimited, the number one nature journal this side of Furcadia. Do you have a comment for our readers?”
“Yes. Go away.” This was a common response.
“Many of our readers are furres and have never seen an illusionist before. You can help them better understand you and your kind.”
“I said go away, furling.”
“I-” The illusionist vanished. The clicking crept nearer, got louder. The fear barrier must have vanished, and with it the only thing keeping Cass safe. She had miscalculated. Click. She forgot how little some dragons cared about furres. Click. She gripped her knife and turned around, trembling, searching for shapes in the dark. Click CLICK. Her heart beat fast and her thoughts raced. She couldn’t believe she was about to fight for her life. Thirty minutes ago she had just been reading a book. CLICK. Besides, she was a journalist, not a fighter. Click click CL-
“You impress me, furling.”
Startled, she jumped backwards, right into the illusionist. She looked up to see it looking back down at her, bemused. “Where did you-”
“I’m an illusionist, aren’t I?”
Right. “But the pack-hunters-”
“Illusionist.”
...right. “...and covering the hole?”
“Snow. Speaking of which,” the illusionist grabbed her collar with its mouth, “Let’sh get yoo inshide, shall we?”
….
The interview went well. But there was something bothering Cass as she put her notepad away. “Why conjure illusions of the pack-hunters to keep me out? It seems excessive.”
“Because I could.”
“What.”
“It was a test, furli- Cassandra. If you had ran with your tail between your legs, there was no point in talking to you.”
“But, my ankle was-”
“Doesn’t matter. You stood your ground. I require nothing more... and nothing less.”
“Oh.” It made sense. Mostly. “Ah, I should get home...”
“Relax, Cassandra. The pack-hunters may have been me, but not everything in these woods are illusion. I do not mind you staying the night.”
This was unheard of. There must be something Cass could use to show her gratitude. What did she bring with her again? The pencil, notepad, knife, and...
“...cookie?”

It was my second winter, but I would always remember it as my first. Not only had I been very young during my actual first winter, but it had been spent in the southern territories, where the days were still long and warm all winter long. Now, a year later, I was traveling north with my mother and father. They had heard tell of a band of ferians living together in the northern forests, and being canens ourselves, such a form of safety in numbers appealed to my parents.

Our family have been bigger the previous winter – many little brothers and sisters, many tiny mouths to feed. I do not know if any of my siblings are still alive. I know only that the up-walking ones called furres took them. We can only hope that they were taken as pets. Dad said they sometimes kept other animals, said he knew this because once he had been a furre. I don't believe him. How can a ferian be a furre? That makes no sense.

My mother doesn't comment on these fallacies – whether she dislikes them or simply doesn't care is uncertain. We had been walking for many days, so far that now the land was wrapped in fluffy white called 'snow.' Dad said it was rain; it didn't look like rain, but it did turn wet in my mouth. Dad seemed to be watching the ground behind us, where little imprints of our paws marked the path we had taken.

He wasn't the only one interested in the paw prints. I skipped through the snow in dizzy circles, the tracks reflecting my recklessness in their crookedness.

Mom shook her head, closing her eyes. She seemed to be smiling, though. I smiled too, running my circles around her now. With a little, wet crunch, everything was white. I heard laughing, and felt teeth in my scruff. Mom was pulling me up and out of the snow. I clawed at the ground, trying to regain my footing.

A few hours after my embarrassing encounter with the snow, we had stopped for the night and I had decided not to move, at risk of becoming submerged again. To my left, Mom was digging a hole, clear through the snow and into the dig below. We could sleep in the open, but it wasn't entirely safe; this den was more to conceal us than for shelter.

Dad had left, heading back the direction we had come from. He had disappeared somewhere over the horizon, but I could scent him on the wind that tugged at my fur. I waited for his return, and in that time, Mom finished the den and nudged me inside. I was a yearling, yes – but I was the last remaining pup, and she felt inclined to baby me for this reason.

When Dad finally returned, he came tail first. Initially, I didn't know the purpose of such, but he was soon close enough to make out a thin pine branch in his jaws. He swung the needles of the snow, making very slow progress. With one last twist of his neck, he threw the branch several feet away from the den, and slipped inside.

“What was the branch for?” I asked, while he curled up in the dirt. I'd never seen him do that before.

“To cover our tracks,” he replied, resting his head on his paws.

“...Why?” There were, coincidentally, many things I did not know about snow, and life in general.

“So no up-walkers or unfriendly ferians find us, kill us in our sleep.”

At first I thought that was a joke – a morbid one, but still a joke. It soon occurred to me that he was being serious. He had put an awful lot of effort into covering the tracks to not have a reason, and his steady gaze told me that he had nothing else to offer.

He turned away, shoving his nose into the soft fur of his tail. He could sleep, after saying something like that? He acted as if it were blunt, uninteresting fact – like the sky is blue or water is wet.

I turned away, mimicking him. My mother's warmth was against my side, but it wasn't the weather that left me cold.

“You should hope it snows,” he mumbled. “ That would keep us much safer.”

And much colder.

Little Joey grumbled as he put on his jacket, then sighed heavily and reached down for his incredibly large boots. They had to be incredibly large. He was a kangaroo. He had incredibly large feet. It only made sense.
What didn’t make sense was the reason for his awakening. At least, not much. His good friend, Buck, had startled him out of bed with a phone call, babbling excitedly about something supposedly so fantastic, so unspeakably phenomenal, that words could do it no justice. He didn’t offer any details, insisting that Joey meet him out by the woods immediately. Joey knew better than to argue with Buck. Buck was a notorious joker, but he was also the smartest of all the neighborhood kids, and probably the toughest, too. He didn’t need anybody. If he called on you, it was a privilege, and you knew you’d be right to honor it. Joey understood that well enough. He pulled open the door to his house, trudging into the wintery outside weather with the reluctant resolve of one who knew he was giving up a good night’s rest – if it were even still a night to rest through. The sky was still dark, but he couldn’t tell if it was the very late or very early kind of dark. Grogginess was corroding his perception of time.

The air was bitingly cold, and Joey could feel it even through all his thick winter gear. It made him want to run back into his room and dive under the covers, but he knew that wasn’t really an option, at this point. With a grim huff of determination, he shoved his mitted paws into his pockets and marched through the snow doggedly. His path was generously lit by the stars, which made the snow glitter strangely with each step, so it wasn’t difficult to see where he was going.

Within a short while, he’d reached the woods, and there he could see Buck, silhouetted by the starlight beneath the trees. The deer’s antlers, small though they were, very closely resembled branches, and Joey silently wondered to himself if birds ever nested on them.
It was a rude thought. He quickly shut it from his mind as he waved at his friend. Buck waved back and trotted out to meet him, looking very excited. There was a bounce to his step, and his eyes were practically ablaze with glee. “You’re never going to believe this,” he told Joey, grabbing his arm the moment it was within reach. “I’ve just hit the jackpot! We’re going to be famous, Joe, buddy, you ‘n me both!”
Joey stumbled because of the sudden shift in weight, but his enormous boots helped him regain his balance. He felt his ears prick up with interest; until now, they’d been pressed flat against his head to keep out the wind. “How d’you figure that?” he asked. His voice was full of sincere curiosity, but Buck waved his free hand impatiently. “I don’t have time to explain right now. You have to follow me,” he replied, quickly leading the kangaroo into the dead foliage. “Hurry, before the snow covers them!”

Wondering what on earth that was supposed to mean, Joey followed along as he was led racing through the woods, tripping and sliding over ice and snow as they ran in a mad hurry to reach Buck’s mysterious discovery. They weaved in and out of the trees, around and over bushes, and below and through ditches, until finally… finally, red-faced and out of breath, the two boys reached a clearing. Buck released Joey’s arm as he rushed into it, practically dancing towards a place where a trail of dark indents stained an otherwise pure sheet of white.
He crouched low near the trail, carefully indicating a strange blot. His finger hovered just above its deepest point, prompting Joey to wander over for a better look once he’d recovered from the run. Upon closer inspection, the seeming blot cold be easily identified as some sort of footprint. It was oddly misshapen, however, not to mention impressively big. Joey felt himself glance down at his own impressively big boots for comparison. They were a close match, but the footprint was warped in such a way that it couldn’t have been made by any kangaroo. At least, not any kangaroo Joey had ever known.

After a few moments of further study, he gave up with a shrug. “I don’t get it,” he confessed, staring down the length of the trail. “What are they?”
Buck must have been waiting for the question, because his answer was almost instant. “Tracks,” he said. “They’re tracks.”
Joey looked down at the footprint again, but aside from the awkward shape, he still couldn’t find anything notable. “I still don’t get it,” he said again. Buck traced the outline of the footprint, shaking his head slowly. Excitement was still plainly strewn about his face. “You’re not looking hard enough. Here, take another look and describe what you see to me,” he ordered.
Joey heaved a sigh and leaned over the footprint a third time, fixing it with a scrutinizing glare as he narrated his observations out loud.

“I see… a rounded heel that looks kind of like a fish… two sides of a heart, which I guess is the part near the toes, and… uh… toes. Four of ‘em. Oh, wait, no, five. That one’s squished into the other one.”
Buck grinned up at Joey. “Exactly!” he cried. “Toes! Whatever made these footprints had toes!”
“… Doesn’t everyone have toes?”
“What kind of sane person would wander around barefoot this time of the year?”

Joey could see Buck’s point.

He crouched down beside his friend. “So, what does it mean?” he asked. “Did someone lose their boots?”
Buck shook his head. “No, it’s bigger than that,” he answered, in a low voice. “What we’re dealing with here isn’t any normal furre, pal. What we’re dealing with is something that thrives on this kinda stuff. And being all the way out here, you can be sure it don’t wanna be seen, either. The only thing that fits the bill…”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“Is a snow monster.”

For a moment, wind was the only sound to be heard.

Joey opened his mouth to speak, but decided better of it and closed it quickly. It was best not to doubt Buck. The guy knew his stuff.
Suddenly, however, Buck cracked a grin and slapped the back of Joey's shoulder. "Ah, I'm just playing with ya!" he laughed. "These are bear tracks. I wanted you to come out here and witness 'em, so when I go tell the rangers, they know I'm not lying. I had you going, though, huh? You should have seen your face!"
He began walking back the way they'd come, motioning for Joey to follow. "Now, c'mon! Let's go be heroes! Like I said: jackpot!"
Embarrassed by his own gullibility, Joey meekly followed.

Meanwhile, from across the clearing, another pair of late-night thrillseekers were on the prowl. Spotting the retreating boys and pointing at them with an icy, monstrous limb, the first hissed eagerly to his partner, “Look, Marve, real furres! I told you they exist! Why do these things always happen when we don’t have the camera?!"

Many years ago in the small town of Meovanni, Christmas was fast approaching. Money was short that year in the Blackpaw family. The father had lost his job, and the mother was working hard to keep their home. The little children, Tau and Charlotte, saw their parent's strife, and felt absolutely horrible. Every year, the never bothered with getting their parents gifts of any kind...but this year was different. They saw how hard their parents have tried to make things right, and they wanted to change things. - Having no money, and very little resources, the two children set out in search of a good gift. They left no stone unturned, but still, they found nothing. Just as they were about to give up hope, Tau saw a little kiwi sitting up on the snowy hill before them. The poor bird looked absolutely freezing, so the children gave up on gift hunting, and took the kiwi home. - As Christmas drew ever closer, the kiwi began to get better. Curious, Tau and Charlotte would question the kiwi about what it was doing outside, but it would never reply. "The poor thing won't speak!" Charlotte remarked. "I know...but we have more important things to think about now." sighed Tau. The two children headed to bed, and as the clock struck twelve, Christmas Eve had begun. - Charlotte woke up early that morning, silently slipped out of bed as to not wake her brother. She crept downstairs and over near the fireplace where the bed she fastened for the kiwi lay. Looking down on the basket with a soft pillow bottom, one thing seemed to be missing...the little kiwi. Charlotte jumped to her feet and began to storm the house, calling out for the sweet little bird. Before she knew it, she'd woken the whole house. Tau slinked sleepily down the stairs. He glanced over at his sister, a concerned look etched across her face. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I can't find the kiwi! I've looked every where..." she sighed, nearly in tears. Tau sighed, closing his eyes. A draft rolled, sending a chill up his spine. "Sis, the door is open!" he cried out. She glanced over at the door before hurrying to he closet, pulling out her coat, and dashing out the door. - Charlotte had stopped, and was staring down intently at the snow as her brother came dashing out. He knelt down beside her and noticed the light kiwi tracks left in the snow. "Should we follow it?" Charlotte asked worriedly. Tau nodded, standing up and following the light footprints. - After only minutes, the forest grew dark and dense, the leaves and brush making it almost impossible to pass. The tracks came to an end, but the children continued walking, looking for their new friend. The cold, icy wind blew through the thick wood, stinging their faces as the pressed on. - After an hour had passed, the children could take it no longer, they had to rest. Tau began digging in the snow at the base of a nearby tree, forming a nice wall for shelter from the wind. The siblings sat, side by side for what seemed like eternity before a rustling came from the bushes behind them. Charlotte turned, a shiver curling and twisting its way up her spine. "W-w-who's t-there!?" she cried. Tau, placing a hand on her shoulder, drew himself to his feet and wandered over to the bushes. - Charlotte waited with bated breath, ready to strike at any moment. She felt as though she lived a year in a minute, she was so afraid. "Come here!" Tau called to her. She jumped, whirling around the base of the tree to see the small kiwi on the shoulder of a tall, round, and rather jolly man in red. "Santa! It's you! It's really you!" she exclaimed! Santa nodded his head slowly, a soft laugh echoing through his chest. "Yes, it is I. My helper here told me of your great deeds. You've done so well. But tell me, children, what are you doing out in the cold like this?". Tau spoke up, his voice shaking with excitement. "We came to find the little kiwi...and on the way we were looking for a present for our mom and dad!". - Santa examined the two of them, a smile etching itself across his face. His rosy cheeks began to glow a deep red, and his eyes sparkled. "Children, you have done so much...please, take this." he pulled out a heart-shaped silver locket, placing it carefully in the childrens' open hands. "Take hold of me," Santa chuckled, "I will take you home now." The children nodded, each taking a hold of Santa's hands as the world around them whisked away in the blink of an eye. - A few hours later, the children awoke, snug in their beds on Christmas day. Charlotte ran to Tau's room, glancing down at the locket she had around her neck. "We never got mom and dad a present..." she said, rather dismayed. Tau nodded as they began to make their way downstairs. As they rounded the corner, they saw the tree, surrounded with presents, and their parents sitting by the fire. "Mom, dad..." they said, "We're so sorry we couldn't get you anything this year...and we tried so hard!" The parents smiled, hugging them both. "Its quite alright, darlings." mom remarked. "Now go open your gifts!" dad smiled. The children ran to the tree and began unwrapping their gifts. Both Charlotte and Tau got everything they wanted for Christmas, but they still felt guilty. - Late that night, right before bed, Charlotte and Tau opened the locket. Inside was a picture of the beloved little kiwi, and an inscription in elegant cursive. She smiled as she read the delicate little letters, "The best gift anyone could have, is having someone like you."

Good evening and welcome to campfire, everyone! As you all know, our theme this winter is snow tracks. Well, I know the perfect story to tell, so come, gather round...

This was way, way back in the day when I worked nightshift at a coffee shop. My favourite part of the night was always the walk home. I always walked the half hour walk home each morning, mostly because I enjoyed the exercise and fresh air; on this exceptionally beautiful February morning, though, something different, something unusual was afoot, as I would soon find out. Fluttering down from heaven were the biggest snowflakes I had ever seen, probably about the size of my thumbnail. The streetlights above me were the only source of light, and they reflected off of each and every crystal making them shimmer and glisten like diamonds. Since the snow was so thin you could see my footprints clear as crystal in the snow behind me. The morning couldn’t possibly have been any more gorgeous. As I was on the final leg home, I saw them. Fresh paw prints, coming from the woods on the corner across the street, going straight down the middle of the street in the same direction I was headed. I could see that there were no other tracks around except mine, so whatever made them was alone. I didn't know much about animal tracks at the time, but these looked distinctly canine to me. Their size seemed to me to be that of a large dog. I recalled that a family who had moved in recently owned a Husky mix - perhaps it had gotten loose? What stood out to me, though, is that the owner of these tracks wasn’t just meandering around enjoying the morning like I was; no, whoever left these clearly had somewhere to be and wasn’t about to be distracted. The prints led in a beeline which went a block down the road before turning right, into some nearby woods. Despite my better judgement, I felt an unusual curiosity about these tracks and, although I was tired and wanted to go to sleep, I was drawn to see where these led, and to whom. And so, by the light of the breaking dawn, I set off following the mysterious tracks.

I followed them for what must have been a good ten to fifteen minutes, going deeper into the glade. It eventually occurred to me that I had no idea where I was anymore, and I began to feel a bit nervous. I brushed it off and was trudging along when I heard leaves rustling nearby. As I turned around, I heard a lady's voice. "Hello?" it said nervously. Startled, I stumbled and nearly slipped in the snow as I whirled around to face her, but when I did, there was no one there but a fox looking up at me. She let out a gasp and put her paw to her muzzle, wide-eyed, as though she had mistaken me for someone else and said something she shouldn't have. Before I could open my mouth to reply, she had dashed off in the same direction as the tracks I had been following. I didn’t bother to try and catch up with her; I knew I couldn’t hope to keep up with a fox even on the best of days, besides which, I was too tired to run anyway. Before the vixen bolted, though, I remember seeing something small and shiny hanging around her neck - a glowing green gem suspended from a thin lanyard; I had never seen such a thing before, yet its image seemed to stick out in my mind, as if it were of great importance.

By now it was sunny out, but in my fatigue I had already pretty much lost all sense of time. Every tree looked like every other tree, and my mind was so foggy from lack of sleep that I had no idea where I was or how far I had traveled. Still, something inside told me to keep pressing on. Eventually I came to a small snowy meadow. Here it seemed like the fox had met with the other canine. I could see a jumble of paw prints and imprints where the animals might have rolled around, perhaps playing in the snow together. Strangely enough, I could make out the outlines of several human footprints in the mix as well. As I explored, I found that the only tracks leaving the clearing were the same two trails of paw prints I'd been following. The prints left the meadow at the other side and led into a small, well concealed glade, where they promptly ended.

Both sets of tracks simply stopped cold right in the open in the middle of the tiny clearing. I shouldn’t have to repeat how little sense this whole morning had made. I was feeling a little sleepy and unable to think completely straight. Even so I was awake enough to become aware of a peculiar sensation I had felt since entering the meadow. Even though the air was frosty, I felt warmer than I had all morning. In fact this whole area felt more...alive, more vibrant, than the rest of the forest I'd come through. I found that the warm sensation became stronger near the center of the clearing, and that this warmth did not feel uncomfortable despite my two layers of winter clothes; in fact I wasn't even the least bit sweaty underneath. I almost nodded off for a second, but when I opened my eyes, everything had changed; ahead of me now was a large field, and the tracks continued into the forest on the other side. Already half asleep, I attempted to follow them but instantly smacked hard into what felt somewhat like a glass window, causing me to stagger backwards and fall into the snow. When I managed to sit up against a tree, I could see now that I was actually still in the hidden glade, and in the middle of it there stood now a round rift which appeared to shine with a radiant light. The paw prints I had been following led straight through this portal; I had evidently been barred entry. My head ached from walking into the darn thing, and I was too drowsy now to stand up again - I could do nothing but watch as the opening began to shrink, but as it closed I could just make out a silhouette that had appeared on the other side. The figure drew closer, until I could make out the commanding visage of a wolf gazing out at me with solemn golden eyes, and the green sparkle of something hanging from its neck. It looked the same as the pendant the fox from earlier wore. I was getting a sense that these pendants were connected to everything I'd seen. I could no longer hold my eyes open, and the last thing I saw before I fell unconscious was the gateway became nothing but a little ball of light which gently illuminated the glade.

I woke up sitting against a tree near my house; it was late morning, and my head hurt. I could remember everything up to entering the hidden glade, but after that I was foggy. I could never forget the gemstone that vixen wore, though; it was as if the image was seared into my memory. My mind was filled with questions than anything. Such as, who or what had I been on the trail of? And since when did foxes speak English? During the following spring, however, I would find an explanation for all that had happened that morning, on the fateful afternoon when my life's true adventure began.

But that, my friends, is another story!

Summer fell and fall’s behind, winter’s winding in with a cold wind. I’ve found I’m looking for you. Silhouettes, shadows in the snow leaving frozen tracks; oh, where’d you go? Three words are haunting me, unsaid, bursting to be free for only thee.

Do you remember when we were children, sometime way back when? I was walking alone in the snow, with nowhere to go. You were sitting beneath the snow-flower tree, looking a little fragile. Wrapped up in a violet scarf and warming your hands with crystallized breaths. It’s hard to remember the rest, but I recall setting my paw upon your side and saying, “Hey, walk with me – let’s be friends.”

Not an hour went by, those winter nights, that we weren’t side-by-side and leaving our tracks in the snow with a “crunch-crunch” and a “piff-paff.” Sometimes, you had to go. And I’d sit beneath the snow-flower tree, humming. Fell asleep, but what a sight to see when I woke again; my friend! There you’d be, prodding me with a stick and giggling when I made a swipe for it.

Winter went by, and the snow-flowers began to die. I picked one and set it in your hair, three words bursting to be free; I struggled simply to say but found others in their way: “Come next year?” You left, I watched you go with a sad smile and a waving tail; this was together, our tale. Seeing you leave stole away my grin.

Spring came, melting snow away. Each sunrise and sunset, I was curled up under the same tree with an unspoken plea, “Snow-flowers, please, bloom.” Here today, too, watching snow-white petals fall like angels cast out of the sky.

Summer fell and fall’s behind, winter came winding in again with a cold wind. You found me, waiting by the tree that kept our memories. Oh, that happiness was an unnatural bliss. The cold was no bother, scarcely even a chill whenever I could get you to giggle. I just wish we could have been there longer. Together we ran and danced in the snowfall. Silhouettes, shadows in the snow leaving frozen tracks; oh, where’d you go? Three words I burned to say, haunting me, unsaid; bursting to be free for only thee.

Those years became my treasures, a waking dream with three words I yearned to scream. I watched you change as they went by, seeing each other just one season a year. I’d wait them out without fear, seeing you come again; different every time but smiling all the same.

No one else could be compared to you. In the spring, I’d sleep amidst gold-flower meadows until a villager shouted me away; waving his pitchfork and threatening me until I went on my way. During the summer, I’d steal off with a fruit or two. Playing in the river, mothers would tell their children to flee from me, horridly. In autumn, I was alone and watching the leaves wither up and rain shades of orange and sanguine.

Who would rest my head in their lap, or tell me stories while we munched on cashews? Who sang to the moon, sad to go home so soon? You, who I gave that snow-flower to. Three words were haunting me, unsaid; bursting to be free for only thee.

Along a year came, after summer had fallen and fall was behind; you showed up with your hair cropped up and hidden beneath a red wool cap. When I asked what was wrong, you smiled and wouldn’t say. We played amidst the snowfall, and I saw how easily you were exhausted. I felt again the need to say those words, worlds away yet fought to be brought out for you. Again, instead, I was afraid and found them waylaid, “Come back tomorrow?”

You came every day, even on the last day of winter when the snow-flowers were dying. One remained. I climbed up and caught it, setting it in your lap while you rested among falling white petals; a final snowfall. We slept, but when I woke you weren’t there and I confess that I wept.

Spring bloomed and I thought only to find you. The meadows wouldn’t show their flowers, for the season was dry. It felt like I could cry. I ran fast after the way I saw you went, every night that you needed to leave. Summer burned, the sky tasted like cinders of ash and no children played in the cracked riverbed. With autumn, I was alone and watching the leaves racked up by villagers to burn. When the winter arrived, I waited beneath the snow-flower tree.

Every night, I waited.

Even, tonight.

I was terrified; never did a winter go without you. Nothing seemed right, nothing was the same. No silhouettes, but mine; shadows in the fog but no frozen tracks left in the snow. Oh, where’d you go? When spring arrived, I’d yet to see you. I was scared of what that could mean. Answers to be seen, I had to know so went to the village below.

Of stone and wood, painted white with red-shingled roofs; I marveled at such a prison this place seemed to be. The villagers hid behind their doors, shutting their shutters and quelling all curious kittens. I met an elderly furre, a goat with a great beard and black eyes who held a farmer’s scythe. He alone stood in the street, looking at me. I approached and sat before him, waving my tails, “Hey, walk with me – let’s be friends?”

He shook his head and said instead, nobody befriended him; for he was what ended them. I felt my ears drop, so I inquired rather, “I’m looking for a friend, and she used to leave tracks in the snow; where did they go?”

His expression softened and he pointed the way, his withered black robe dancing in the wind.

My journey took me between gates wrought of black iron, where sat hundreds of stones. I found your name and curled up; wishing I knew the meaning of letters three that they carved into a rock for you. You weren’t here, but I could tell you were too. Oh, I waited thinking maybe you were a bit late. The old furre came for a moment and sat with me, but I told him I wouldn’t leave until you surfaced.

Summer fell and fall’s behind, winter wound its way in with a cold wind. I found you, but knew you wanted to see the snow-flower tree. With me, I brought a seed and set it behind the rock you slept beneath. The years went by; I watched it grow and waited to show you. When again we could play, there was just something I wanted to say…

“I love you.”

She was dozing lightly when she heard the rattle, the crash, and then the slam. She darted from bed and made her way to the kitchen, where some of her jars of salves had been smashed on the ground. Picking her way carefully across the broken pieces, she crossed to the door and opened it. Her lover was nowhere in sight; the only sign of departure was a set of tracks in the snow leading away from the house.
For a while the druidess stood, gazing at those tracks, then heaved a sigh that came from her toes and turned back into the house, shutting the cold out. She knelt to gather the pieces of broken clay and glass, her dark hair falling forward into her face no matter how many times she pushed it back behind an ear. The work kept her focused, but her hair was working her last nerve, until finally she threw the trash basket to the ground and looked for her tea pot.
Soon she held a warm cup of tea in her hand as she looked out the window to the stillness and silence of the forest surrounding her cottage. A somewhat stale pastry filled with wild vegetables and herbs made her breakfast. Her face was as placid as the surface of a lake on a day with no breezes, but something was disturbing her perfect calm. She needed to get in touch with nature again.
The druidess dressed for the weather, layering pants and a tunic under her plain, earthy colored robes, then a wool cloak over that, with gloves and boots. Grabbing her staff- it looked little different than a particularly long, slender, and gnarled branch- and her satchel, she set off into the snow blanketed world outside.
At first, it seemed to be the perfect cure. Snow crunched softly under her boots. Every now and then, the barren branches of a tree rustled, perhaps under the weight of shifting snow. There was perfect peace in nature, everything sleeping as it awaited spring.
She found her way to the clearing with the hollow log. Nearby a straggly bush bearing bright pink winter flowers grew, giving off a faint, though very sweet scent. The druidess plucked a few blossoms and sat on the log, delicately draining the blossoms of their sweet nectar as her dark eyes took in the smooth planes around her in appreciation- smooth all but for the tracks she had made in the snow. Her gaze darkened at the sight of those tracks, and, struck restless, she stood and made her way deeper into the forest.
Her thoughts were as restless and formless as a wind tossed sea as she followed a deer trail to nowhere in particular. She was startled from her thoughts when she realized she was seeing red. Blood splattered the snow and made a trail of its own, deviating from the deer path. Her heart beating hard, the druidess followed the bloody tracks to their source. A gasp of relief was followed by a pang of guilt when the druidess realized she was looking at an animal, not a person. The furry shape was curled at the base of a tree, shuddering and emitting growls.
Whispering soft words of reassurance, the druidess slowly approached the animal. It turned one bright eye on her, its growls increasing in pitch. As she lay her cool, smooth palms on the animal, it flinched violently and snapped at her. As waves of relief passed through its body, however, the creature calmed and lay still, until its wound had closed. The druidess stroked its matted fur and murmured loving words. After a while, the creature seemed to come to its senses, because it jerked to its feet, swiping its claws at the druidess. She sprang back, clutching her hand to her chest. Blood welled up in three bright scratches across the back of her hand. Snarling, the creature barreled off in the direction of a hole in the ground.
The druidess blinked slowly, wiping blood from her hand onto her robes. A frown furrowed her brow. This had never happened before, at least not since her clumsy youth.
She rose to her feet and continued on her way, picking up the deer trail once more. The druidess listened to the quiet sounds of the forest, opening her heart to nature once more. But it was too quiet. Before, it seemed as though the world slumbered peacefully, content with the assurance that spring would come and melt the snow away. Now it seemed everything slept as though dead.
The druidess knew that it was now hopeless to seek escape in her usual comforts, so she turned and made her way back home. She never raised her head, her eyes on the ground before her, watching each step she took. Soon she found the tracks- her lover’s tracks. She felt her heart sink. She was not herself. Nothing ever disturbed her calm this deeply. However, as she continued on, she discovered new tracks in the snow, sets of three. These ones headed toward, not away, from her cottage. Curiosity piqued, she picked up her pace. The smell of cooking food and steeping tea greeted her nose long before she reached the door to her cottage. She opened the door and was greeted by three smiling faces: Ethelle, Cara, and Lota. Ethelle, the tallest, stood to one side of the room stirring her tea, while Cara, the plumpest, pulled a pie from the oven. Lota was the youngest, and she was busily entertaining a kitten on the floor with a bit of string. The smashed jars of salve had been cleaned up.
”We thought you could use some company,” Ethelle explained, handing the druidess a cup of tea.
”How did you know?” the druidess asked, warming her lips on the rose scented liquid. Cara chuckled as she set the pie on the counter, and Ethelle shrugged with a small smile.
”Call it a friend’s intuition.”
Surrounded by warmth and lively company, the druidess dismissed the tracks leading away from her cottage. There were people in her life who did not smash her things.

My sister’s favourite season is winter. Every year since we were five, we’d go out to play together in the newly fallen snow, following whatever tracks we could find, while making some ourselves. Though, last winter, a bad accident sent my sister to the hospital, ending our childish dream. ‘She may never walk again,’ they said, and ‘she’s suffered brain damage so she’ll need to relearn how to speak.’ It was a devastating realization. To see her pale face lying on the pillow, black hair splayed messily across the fabric, bloodied, her forehead bound by a thin line of bandage; was simply too much to bear. To say, ‘this is my sister,’ was heartbreaking, thinking that such a short time ago she was happy and smiling at my side. Though I promised myself when she awoke, I would be there beside her to say ‘Ah! You’re awake!’ and have many things to show her.
She was in a coma until the snow had melted, though I continued to visit her every day after school, telling her everything regardless whether she listened or not, so she wouldn’t miss a thing when she returned. We were both second years at our high school, and attended the same classes, so it wasn’t a problem. Yet, she rarely spoke, and although it didn’t bother me to do all the talking, I never once saw her smile. The seasons came and gone, and soon, before I knew it, winter had spread its frigid blanket and draped the city in white. A year had gone by, a year where my sister lay confined in her hospital bed; awaiting the day she could leave. It was then that I vowed to make her smile. I waited until first snow to initiate my plan, working quickly yet secretively until everything was set. I’d probably be reprimanded for this, but if there was a chance to return that warm smile to her lips, it was worth it. Hurrying up through the elevator, I nonchalantly slipped into my sister’s room, a coat and toque draped over an arm as I made for the bed. Sitting upright against the pillow, gazing blankly out the snowy window, was my sister. She looked considerably better without the numerous tubes streaming from her body; but I noticed her face was paler than normal, and her eyes held a dullness that worried me somewhat. She greeted me with a strange expression; I must’ve looked strange wearing such heavy clothes inside, though I merely grinned brightly, tossing the bundle onto her lap. “You’d better put those on, it’s cold outside you know...” This was different from my usual greeting, and she detected it, seeming a little confused. “What? Why? I can’t...” She was frantic at first, though this gradually changed to bewilderment. “I’m not allowed...” She repeated, while at the same time hastily pulling on the jacket, struggling with the zipper. I reached forward; snagging the forgotten toque before it fell, placing it gently on my sister’s head, tugging the sides so they covered her ears. “You are today.” I stated firmly, offering a hand. “You have to. It’s the first snow, after all.” Blinking, unbelieving, she took my hand, and I seized this chance to yank her forward, drawing her into my arms and holding her close to my chest. Behind me, a click of the door being opened, and with a determined expression, I shot forward, skirting past the person who opened it and racing down the hall. It must have been a nurse, I could hear her yelling at me but I didn’t pause to look, knowing full well what the consequences would be. The noise seemed to get louder once I reached the elevator, but thankfully it was empty and the doors closed quick enough to stop our pursuers temporarily until we reached the main floor where we’d make our escape. “Erin! Why were they chasing us, you said I—“ I laughed, heart thudding rapidly in my chest. “Sorry, Maiya! I lied!” I uttered through gasps, twisting abruptly to slam the glass doors with my shoulder, forcing it open as hospital workers failed in their scrambling attempts to catch us. The cold air rushed rapidly past us, howling wildly and flinging snow into our faces until the airtight doors slammed shut; we were free. Proud with my triumph, I tread onward, abandoning the angry protests behind me. Holding tightly to my sister, I carried her off into the trees, searching until I found the wheelchair I hid there earlier. It had snowed some, so I dusting the seat with a hand before carefully setting her down, kicking the footrests with a toe and taking the handles in my grasp. Already, I could feel the wind nipping at my bare hands. “Let’s go, Maiya...” I whispered, giving the chair a slight shove to dislodge the wheels from the snow, pushing it down the path. An awkward silence spread between us where no words were spoken, and only the slow rising clouds of breath could be seen. Did I done something wrong? My footsteps slowed, dragging through the snow. The wheels groaned noisily. Maybe it was a little extreme, but, it was all to make her smile, right? What if she didn’t smile? Suddenly, I began regretting my actions. “Stop.” A voice broke my thoughts. It took me a second to recognize it. Instantly, I jerked to a halt, blinking down at my sister who held out an arm, pointing off in some direction. I followed with my eyes. There, just barely visible, were small indentations in the snow. Releasing my hands, I stepped past to take a closer look, discovering that these marks were actually the footprints of a small animal. “Hm. They lead over there.” “Show me.” I straightened, gazing back at my sister with a hint of surprise, though moved over quickly, crouching down with my back exposed to her. “Alright. Hurry up.” I let loose a grunt as she climbed on top of me, hooking her legs in my arms, and giving a brief warning for her to hold on as I started off. We strayed from the path deeper into the forest until the trail vanished, placing us before a tall birch tree. I peered around eagerly, when a nudge directed my attention to a hole in the trunk. Quietly, I snuck over, peeking inside. Tiny eyes stared back at me, though I couldn’t quite tell what it was, and wasn’t able to. A sharp chattering exploded in my ear, and out of nowhere, an acorn flew out, hitting me above the nose. “Ow! That hurt!” I rubbed furiously at the spot, one eye closed against the pain, and soon enough, the culprit was revealed; a fuzzy brown squirrel skittered out of the hole onto a nearby branch, clearly displeased to have been disturbed. What got me, however, wasn’t the small mammal but the laughter that ensued, causing me to glance over my shoulder. Apparently, my sister found the incident quite humorous, and laughed so hard that she cried. I couldn’t express the warmth that swept over me at that moment. “Aha. It was pretty funny, wasn’t it?” I joked, and the laughing settled. Arms wrapped around my neck. A grin played at my lips. “Yes, it was rather silly, wasn’t it?” I could tell without looking that she was smiling. ‘Thank you.’

Walking along the winding road, that seemed almost never-ending; the snow was falling and landing onto the white blanket that covered the floor. Paw prints were made, creeping along this path, deep in the glistening snow. Furlings were having snowball fights with their parents... getting knocked over if the snowballs were too big, even if they were too small, snowmen dotted around, outside each house. There were sledges with children on darting down steep hills, not caring about the consequences. They were all having a good time. In the village you could hear carol singers. All singing different songs, spreading the Christmas cheer. A large tree was in the middle of the lake, with furries all gathered around it. There wasn’t a frown to be seen. Foxes and wolves, running through the woods... too fast to be seen! Rabbits building burrows, ready to go away for the winter. Carrying along down this path, into the dark gloomy woods you can hear bats, flapping around and squawking. Twigs snapping in the near distance, there’s lots going on along the winding road...

It was three years ago, I was a volunteer for the Salvation Army. Standing out in the cold, ringing the bell. Waiting on people to spare some pocket change for the charity. Don't get me wrong, I liked volunteering for the Salvation Army, to help spread Christmas to those who were less fortunate than I. That year was different. It was Christmas eve, and there was a thick blanket of snow on the ground. I could see the breath in the air, and I was just eager to get home after my job was over. I knew it was going to be cold that night, I was not eager to spend the night out in it. Furres passed by, some donated pocket change, but most did not. I stopped paying attention, my attention was diverted into staying warm. That, was until a furre graying in the muzzle, hunched over, clutching close to him a long coat with a worn fur ruff put four pennies into the red bucket. I was thinking,

Four pennies? Are you serious?

That was when I studied his attire. His right boot bore a hole in the sole, his clothes was worn and raggedy. The furre walked in a hunched over posture, as if the clothing he had wasn't enough to ward off the bite of the cold. That's when I realized, those must be his last four pennies. I couldn't leave my post, but my heart went out to the poor, freezing furre walking through the snow. I had no choice but to stand there, and continue ringing that little bell in my paw. Soon as my shift was over, and I handed the bell to Mark who took over. I dug out a five out of my wallet. I didn't know where he lived, but I had to try to find it. It was Christmas Eve, and I wanted to give a little bit of a Christmas to an ailing stranger. I headed off toward the general direction I saw him go. I didn't find him, but what did I find was a pair of tracks heading off toward the countryside. I could tell they were his, due to the hole in his right boot. It must of been cold, that snow seeping into the boot and making his socks wet like that. I decided, not a five, but a twenty for a pair of boots. He's going to need it. I continued to follow the tracks in the snow, and noticed that he favored his left leg. Maybe he could use a cane? I continued on, the cold was starting to get to me. I wondered how this guy could even handle it, he was less bundled up than I was! Then I noticed, he dropped his scarf. Stained old thing, with moth holes and the knitted yarn barely holding together. I shook my head, and decided I will get him a new scarf too.

Finally, an old run down shack came into view. Looked like a one room farmhouse with the paint long worn off, and a rusted tin roof. At least he wasn't homeless, I thought. I walked up to the door and knocked. It reminded me of a shed, or a barn door and the way it swung open with my knocking, had no lock of any sort. An old, worn voice that sounded like it saw too much told me to come in. I did, and felt like I had to find an excuse to be there. I turned around to him, who was sitting on an old stained couch. It would of been garish even if it wasn't stained, looking like it came out of a hippie commune with all of those psychedelic colors.

"Um sir? I found your scarf."

He smiled, and said his thanks. That's where we introduced each other. Something caught my eye, compared to the ramshackle condition to the rest of the old house, the wooden glass covered case appeared pristine. Stood out sharply next to an old American flag that bore stains and moth holes in the fabric, there was something glittering inside of the case. I stood up, and walked toward it to take a closer look. They were medals, but what caught my eye was the medal located above the rest. A Distinguished Service Cross. I knew that was second only to the Medal of Honor. That was when the conversation that changed the way I look at everything came up. The old furre, named Tom, came up and started his story.

"I served in Korea, and then I served in 'Nam. Korea wasn't a popular war, but that is easily forgotten, in comparison to 'Nam. Korea didn't change me, as much as the Vietnam war did. I was in the army, and thus had to face an enemy that used gruesome tactics, something I wasn't used to. None of us were, or expected it. We weren't used to the terrain, they were. The Vietcong used this to their advantage. I don't blame them, we would of done the same thing if the situation was reversed. I still can remember the smell of the blood, sweat, and the gunpowder. My friends of my company dying around me, crying for their mothers who were miles away, at home. No medal can bring them back from the dead. War is a harsh reality, and often over things that can be solved peacefully and diplomatically. No one wants war, so why do we swing to such lows? When I came back, I was called a baby killer, and spat on by the civilians. My family abandoned me, wouldn't talk to me. Wasn't my fault I was used as a pawn in the great political game. They didn't care, they saw me as a murderer, fit for the electric chair. I was treated like an outcast since then. Paid only a meager pension from the government, most of that goes to food. The rest to medication. To treat the nightmares, you see, and the flashbacks. Every Thanksgiving, I have no Thanksgiving turkey, Lucky to even have a TV dinner. I'm thankful every year, Just to be alive and have survived the last winter. Christmas, I only want one gift, and that is God allows me to survive this winter. I'm too old now to go chopping wood, so I have to do without."

That was when I realized, We take so much for granted. The Thanksgiving feast, the gifts we get every Christmas, and how are we thankful? Gifts getting 're-gifted' or returned to the store because the recipient simply just did not like them. I walked out of the shack, I knew he wouldn't survive that winter. There was a blizzard in the forecast. I remembered, we had a room for rent in our house, and a light bulb went on in my head. I flipped out my cell phone, and called my wife. She kindly agreed to it after I told her the story. I walked back into the shack.

"Tom? Pack your things, You're coming home with us."

He looked like he couldn't believe it. He protested at first, but finally gave in. That was the best choice I ever made. That winter, the blizzard came as I expected, but stronger than I have predicted. That year, the old one room shack fell in on itself from the weight of the snow on the old roof. He doesn't need that old shack anymore, we consider him now part of the family. He turned out to be great with the kids, who viewed him as "Grampa Tom" He's doing much better now, the money that once went to food, he was able to buy new, better clothing. There were three things he did not replace, and never will. The case with the medals, and the old stained moth holed flag, and the scarf. One to remind him of who he was, the other to remind him of the conditions he was saved from, and the last to remind him of the gift that saved his life.

The wind, the snow, those bare winter trees, the frost of breath. My friend said to me, ‘A white rose, a dove I am.’ Her cape, flowing and long, like red fire long ago burn, or the purge of fall to winter, and the crisp purity of the untouched landscape.

It was my wish on the Eve to find my lost wondering heart at the iced lake. She flew; spare no white feather of effort, twittering, singing sweetly to my ears meet me at the lake.

O how I dreaded to meet her, my love, my darling. The air was bitter, antagonistic, my heart a flutter at such anticipation. The night was dire; I awaited the time to go out, to meet my heart’s destiny.

On the Eve, at the dawn of the Night, my window looks out at the snow. I dash through the night air, looking for those sweet lovely signs that I’m not alone.

Nor was I.

I found her delicate footprints on the snow. Those soft feet contacting that clear vanilla ice. Oh how wonderful! My heart erratic I followed them, to meet my dear sweet rose at the lake.

I found myself among the grove of cherry trees, those soft pink petals carpeting the floor, paving the way for my dove. Like nature has provided the excellence her beauty required, like a Queen of Nature. The sweet cherry blossom scent made my heart crave the sweet nectar my love was like. I held the blossoms dear to me, and followed those pink footsteps.

It was then I was among those cold, lonely trees. I could hear her laughter, as if those footprints were saying come my darling. I wanted to yell I am anything for you! Yet all I saw was the cold.

The cold gave way to the Lake, to where my love’s footprints ended with her long, flowing, red cape. I heard her laughter on that distant frigid water, frozen like a mirror of time. I saw etches on the ice, and laughed to myself, a beautiful echo to hers.

It was then I flew like her, a bird, a dove, over those dark waters. I followed those etches in the ice, gliding like bird, precious, sweet. To grasp on her, to feel her soft warmth cradle me, to laugh gaily with her, to make etches in the ice.

“Come, darling, follow me!” her sweet voice filled the air as she parted our merry skating.

She flew over the snow, leaving those small, beautiful prints. I followed after, my heart racing faster than I. She led me through a clearing of those skeletal trees onto a road. It was eerie, quiet. I could see those deep icy ruts the sleighs made. There a lone lamp, with a small lit fire, showed the way.

“Come, sit with me.” She sat at a wooden bench beneath the mellow light. I sat next to her, cuddling together on the Eve, at the Night. Looking back at our trail, I could see two distinct prints, two, yet one.

She sighed slightly, a cloud forming from her mouth and dissipating as it rose into the air. She smiled a bit, watching the would be smoke, then walking forward, the crunch of snow underfoot a satisfying cushion beneath paws wrapped in leather shoes. She shook her hair from her eyes and continued walking, stopping at the edge of the lake and glancing back over her shoulder, a smile once more falling upon her lips as she gazed upon the tracks she’d left in the snow; crisp mocks of her hind paws stretching out behind her. She knelt to the ground at the edge of the lake and set the paper lantern on the shore, removing a candle from her bag and lighting it before placing it inside the lantern. She pushed the lantern out from the ice crusted shore into water that hadn’t frozen over yet. She watched it for a few moments as it floated out then bowed her head, pressing her hands together.

“Yasumeru.” She whispered it softly, a tear falling down her cheek and falling to the snow, leaving a small depression there. She sat there for a while, until snow started falling again and her lantern was far out of sight. She pushed herself up from the ground and retraced her steps, the tracks becoming more obscured as the snow fell harder. She rushed back to her house; foot falls crunching beneath her, tracks covered almost as soon as they were made. She pushed forward through the woods, along familiar paths she traveled often. She reached her door slightly out of breath and with a tint of red on her cheeks beneath her fine coat of fur.

She opened the door and stepped in, turning to close it behind her to give the quick fading prints in the snow, a slow smile creeping ‘cross her face as she shut the door.

“Oi, Enko!” She turned about to meet the gaze of her friends, all huddled around the fireplace drinking hot cocoa. One waved and they smiled to each other as Enko joined them. “Did you get the memorial lantern out before it started snowing?” The youngest of the group asked. Enko nodded in response as she took a sip of hot cocoa, a distant look crossing her face as she remembered her friend, a rambunctious wolf with gray fur and crystal green eyes.

“It’s best after the first snowfall, it was her favorite time, we’d always go out walking and make a game of following our tracks back without leaving more.” Enko sighed slightly, pulling herself back from memories. “But I’m sure she’d want us to keep having fun anyways.” She smiled and returned to her cocoa, ears dipped slightly down as her friends began talking around her again, distinct words fading to a soft hum. Outside a gray misted figure placed a hand against the glass and whispered ‘tegaaku’ and as it faded its tracks in the snow were the last to go.