At this point I could delve into a lengthy description of how bitterly cold and hostile the woods become over the dark winter months, but having read about the metre-deep first snow, I am confident that you already know this.
And Aurora already knows this - it is a rash itching at the back of her mind as she sits atop an exposed grey rock and ponders what she should do next. Of all the menacing creatures in this forest, the most dangerous one of all is the most overlooked.
The vicious bite of winter.
It reaches its worst during the darkest months, when the nights are long and the stars glitter above. There’s three full moons in winter, but if you can make it to the middle of these full moons, you are almost guaranteed safe passage into the next spring. The midwinter moon is the sign that winter has reached its worst - the days are shortest, the snow is deepest, the air is the coldest. It is the hardest moment of winter, but in being the hardest moment, it also brings a renewed sense of hope and joy. A sense of joy that you have survived this far, and a sense of hope at the softer times to come. After the midwinter moon, pioneering winter bulbs like snowdrops and dog’s mercury bravely push their way through the ground, making the most of small patches of bare ground where the snow is shrivelling into nothing. Feeble trickles of water start to flow over the rivers which used to be frozen, and the days begin their fight back against the night, continuously gaining precious minutes.
Aurora has survived a number of winters in this forest, and she knows what lies ahead. But she’s never survived one like this before. This time it’s different. So very different.
This time she’s without her tribe.
She lets out a shudder. Underneath her sprawls a good sight of the forest from this vantage point. The clouds are thick and heavy overhead, like a duvet blanketing the sky, refusing to let even a crack of sunlight past. The snow is now falling in thick sheets, submersing the deep green pines in a sea of white.
I’m sure you are able to take a guess at what Aurora is thinking. Unless she wants to die of frostbite (which, thankfully for our story, she doesn’t), she is going to need a new den. It would be impossible to make it to the midwinter moon without one.
And so she stands, knocking the snow from her lap and surveying out across the landscape. This isn’t an area of the forest she has been to before; in the past, she never had cause to venture out this far. Fleeing from the Wildebeast in that moment of terror has landed her in strange and unfamiliar territory. She would be safer in the lands she knows, where she can already tell which trees an arachnid might spin its web between or which cave a bear could be hibernating in.
But her old den is long gone. So perhaps she should make the most of a new situation.
Aurora plods her way through the snow, searching for a new home. A pair of alpine doves swoop between the branches of the pines, letting out high pitched whistling calls as they go. She watches the graceful birds with a small smile.
A few boulders are strewn around, but none are cave-like enough to be a shelter. Aurora goes over to them, running her fingers over their coarse grey surfaces, and then continuing on.
She walks for a good while with no further luck. A trail of foot-sized dents in the snow stretches out behind her like a breadcrumb trail in Hansel and Gretel. They form part of the artwork of tracks that zigzag across the otherwise perfect layer of crisp snow. Some are small paws with four toes - probably a fox or lynx - while others are the dainty fork-shaped signs of birds. There’s even a print that is as large as a dinner plate and with three toes, which is unusual for most animals. Aurora pauses by this track, kneeling down to examine its form.
There’s only one thing it could be: the distinctive mark of a Wildebeast. It doesn’t comfort her to know that even in this part of the woods they are still out there, somewhere.
It’s not easy going, as many of the tree trunks have tens of glistening silver strands stretched between them, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. Arachnid webs. Made for trapping birds, not humans, but still a danger because once caught in them, it is almost impossible to extract yourself. The strands are as thin as twigs, and, in the dim daylight and unrelenting snowfall, look beautiful - almost like something made in heaven. But not everything that glitters is gold; Aurora knows better than that.
In time there comes the faint noise of trickling water, like the sound of a tap that has been left on. (Of course there are no taps in the forest, but this simile is for the benefit of people who are fortunate enough to have piped water, like you and I). With her hopes for finding a new den falling quicker than the snow, she decides to head towards it. After only a couple of minutes, the noise increases to a stronger flow, and Aurora is greeted by the welcome sight of what looks like a giant silvery blue coin, wedged in between the trees as if placed there by accident. The lake is perfectly flat, and an opaque film of ice has already frozen over its surface. It looks like a massive slab of glass - the window to the dark, underwater world that lays below.
She approaches the bank, and pauses there for a moment. Lakes are always good places to be: there is often a flow of freshwater into them. But something else has caught her eye, and it sparks a newfound glimmer of excitement in her soul. She cranes her neck forward to get a better view.
On the other side rises a low hill, and carved into the hill is a small cave, with an inviting appearance of being not too big and not too small. It beckons to her, whispering promises of being her new place to storm the winter. Aurora hurries towards it.
This could be it. The could be her new shelter.
She reaches the front of the cave, and her sprint slows to a tentative walk. Just as she has seen the attraction of this hideout, so might other animals, too. Her worst fear, besides a Wildebeast, would be a bear sprawled across the cave floor in the middle of its hibernation.
But our protagonist in in for a stroke of luck. She steps forward and peers inside, a small child checking under the bed where there are surely monsters lying in wait...
And she lets out a long breath.
There is nothing in there except a few pebbles and pine needles. The odd clump of snow gets blown in by the wind and settles close to the entrance, but further inside the cave is as dark as the night sky.
Her lips tug up in a smile. Home sweet home.
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