A Snow Existence

It was eerily quiet, apart from the stream.

Snowy pines and the crunch of ice beneath your boot were all you needed to carry on. For your prey could not last forever. Not as long as you could.

The distant fading of the sun was your sign to slow down and camp for the night. You look for tall trees with low hanging branches that you can use for firewood. They’d be damp from the snow and the cold, but you’d make do.

You kneel to the ground and feel the snow seep through your pants. You dig deep into the snow, searching for the dry bramble that hides beneath. It will be perfect for the beginnings of your fire.

There is no need to hide the firelight—once you get it started—because you are the predator. The only fearsome creature that exists in this snowy existence.

The first warning is the snap of a twig in your shadowy surroundings. It is ever so subtle a noise, but you discern its direction instantly.

West.

You do not move. You do not shudder or twitch. You simply sit.

As it approaches you find there is no need to be fearful, and when it pounces you move swiftly, burying your spear deep into its chest.

It falls with a thud against the pale snow, and you trace its blood against the snow.

'Number 478,' you murmur to yourself.

When the sun rises, you dampen your fire and continue the journey.