He was cold, and he did not like it.
He had been cold very few times in his three moons of living, and none of those times were comparable to this; every leaf on his body had withered and fallen away, his back was covered in a layer of itchy ice speckles, and his claws were numb beyond feeling due to all the slush he had been trudging through. A day that should have been spent in the glorious warmth of the sun had instead been dominated by the most grueling patrol he had ever been on.
A growl of relief from ahead called his attention away from his stewing, and refocused him on his surroundings. He was at the back of the returning forest patrol, behind a half-dozen other timberwolves; his rightful place as the youngest member of the pack. The narrow, winding, overgrown path they had been following for the last hour had finally opened up to reveal a large clearing. His now-leafless ears perked up in recognition; the roughly oval field, bisected by a swift-running river and shadowed on the near side by a sudden spire of overgrown granite, had been the pack’s new home ever since the skies had turned grey. It was deeper in the forest than the last one, and warmer; the sudden onset of the cold had driven most of the forest’ inhabitants to find warmer burrows, and the pack was no exception. He still wasn’t quite comfortable with the new den, but moving here had been a much better choice than staying on the exposed hilltop they had used to call home.
The rest of the pack was asleep, with the Captain being the only one of the ten reclining under the shelter of the spire who rose to greet them. He watched her gnarled form drive a path through the slush as if it were nothing, and felt a rush of pride. Even when the blanket of snow had wrapped the rest of the pack in its drowzying embrace and lulled them into a stupor, she had stayed unyielding, When even the predatory foliage had decided to hunker down for the season and pause its vigil against intruders, she remained dedicated to the protection of their home. The pack, protectors and keepers of the forest, had no exception to the draw of warmth and slumber, but under her will, they would uphold their duty.
As he watched the other members of the patrol let their claws lead them to the rough beds under the spire and be greeted, he felt a brush of inspiration; He would follow the path of the Captain and resist respite for a bit longer. He turned, instead, towards the river. The clearing sloped downwards slightly towards the water. The grade would usually have been unproblematic, but this treacherous cold had made it into a significant obstacle for a creature his size.
Readying himself with a sharp breath, he sloshed over to the edge of the grade and stepped into the deeper, near-chest-high slush, keeping his muzzle raised and blindly feeling through the burning cold for submerged claw-holds. He had scrabbled about half-way down the slope when he realized that a sudden drift was blocking his path forwards, piled higher than his head. Loosing a creaking, crackling growl of irritation, he lunged a swipe at the obstruction. Unbalanced, his other claws slipped, and he fell headlong into the freezing pile.
His rash attempt at a display of dominance over the frozen irritant quickly turned into a scramble of panic as the cold mass fought back. It pulled him down, swallowing him up and chilling him to his core. The cold was everywhere; he couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t feel. He tried to thrash out with his claws and his teeth, biting, scratching, anything to save himself from this evil. Nothing. His attacks were useless; there was no contact, and his movements became slower as the cold bit deeper. He felt a rush of real fear, terror, pain. He couldn’t escape.
A sudden weight latched onto his back and pulled. He managed a weak flinch at the shock of sudden, blinding light and a feeling of weightlessness replacing the suffocating damp of the white. A moment passed as he recovered his senses. He blinked and took stock of his position. He was hovering limp above the slush, facing the den. A low sniff sounded behind him, and it occurred to him that he was being held by the scuff in the jaws of a packwolf, and a number of the rest of the pack members were staring across the clearing at him with condescending, amused grins.
Shaking off his fear, he yelped to his rescuer and, with an anger born of wounded pride, tried to wriggle out of the hold. A sudden release, and he was returned to the earth, having barely managed to get his claws under himself and avoid a snootful of slush. He whipped around, ready to tell off his rescuer for their completely unnecessary and unasked for assistance, and immediately felt the snarl catch in his throat. The Captain was sitting on her haunches, staring down at him with an unimpressed gaze. She kept him pinned there under the swirling green glow of her eyes, letting the silent reproach drag on for a painfully demeaning number of moments before turning her gnarled head away with a sniff and padding back to the shadow of the rocks.
His eyes didn’t follow her path; he continued staring straight ahead as she moved away, making sure not to incur any more disdain for his foolishness. After a few more moments of standing at attention, he turned away and faced back towards the river. The snowdrift was in his path again, undamaged by his ill-conceived assault, and sneering at his weakness in its cold, silent way. He bared his fangs at it, a mouthful of sharp, spiteful thorns, but it was unfazed. He trudged past it, and tried to ignore the smattering of quiet sounds of amusement from behind as he did so.
This cold was evil. It was ruining everything it touched, and it had made him look like a fool for trying to resist it. It was foreign, an intruder to the pack’s home. Their duty in life was to protect the forest from all intruders; this was the commision given to them by the Mother Moon, recalled to them every night and lived out in every day. And yet, no one else in the pack seemed to care about it; they accepted the invasion and disruption as if it could only be expected!
His swirling, bitter thoughts slowed as the slush fell away at the edge of the river. Steadying himself on the solid, relatively dry pebbles of the bank, he put a rest to his resentment for a moment and bowed his neck to slake his thirst.
Dink.
He reared his head back in shock; the water was solid! He scanned the dark mass in front of him, searching for an explanation. Finding none, he reached out a claw to the point on the water where his snout had made contact, and swiped at it. His claw bounced away and left a small gouge in the stony water. He stared at the abberrance; the water had simply stopped moving, like a rabbit keeping desperately still in an effort to hide from a predator.
Leaning closer, he reached his claw out again and slowly set it down. He made contact, and felt the scared water resist, supporting his claw like solid ground. He let his weight rest on the reaching claw and stepped out with the next. It was also held. He bit back a whine of excitement and turned his head back to the pack. None of them seemed to have noticed the incredible feat he was accomplishing; they were all too occupied with settling down for the evening and had decided not to pay any more attention to some foolish pup. A pup who was currently walking on top of the river!
Turning his attention back to the water in front of him, he stared out over the surface of the unmoving river in growing excitement. Snow was lying piled all around the banks, and had even built up on top of it in a few places. He took a breath as a sudden realization snapped together in his mind: The cold was such a powerful force that even the river had chosen to stop moving in an effort to hide from it. He took another step, and then another; all four claws were now supported by the cold water. He went to take another step, digging his claws in to avoid slipping on the smooth surface. The excited whine in the back of his throat became slightly more audible as he looked back and saw that he was well and truly standing on nothing but water.
His head already turned, he directed his attention to the pack and called out to them with a confident bark. A few heads turned towards him, one of them the Captain’s. He whipped his head back forwards, locked his eyes on the middle of the river, and crouched down into a pounce. This would impress them.
He leapt into the air, full of confidence: this would demonstrate his cleverness to the pack and make up for his earlier foolishness. He felt every moment of his leap; he felt the cold air rushing around him, felt his heartbeat in his ears, felt his wide grin of anticipation. He reached the peak of his flight, and for just a moment, everything was perfect. Then a panicked yelp came from the pack behind him. He fell back towards the rivertop, tried to twist his head to see what was wrong. He landed. The water burst up around him, clawing up from beneath its solid shell and dragging him down into its rushing depths.
The cold had returned. Surrounding him, choking him, blinding him. He had angered it by escaping once, and now it sought to claim him forever. It rushed past him and around him, constantly moving, constantly biting and clawing. The river had been cornered by the cold, it had been scared; creatures were always most dangerous when they had nowhere to run to, and now he was being torn apart. The cold, the water, had him in its grip and was thrashing him about. Rocks, roots, riverbed: each impact an increasingly dulled burst of pain as his senses dimmed under the freezing torture.
A sudden change, a twisting of gravity, and he was above water again. His thoughts dead to the world, he could barely keep himself aloft for a few moments at a time with a feeble paddling. The river was churning, the trees were rushing by, and everything was blurring into a mass of gray and pain. A rushing grew in his ears; a steady, rumbling, intensity and hearld of the end. It grew to a peak, his self at the edge of ending, and then he was weightless again. His drenched eyes pulled open for one last view.
He was looking up at the edge of a cliff, with water rushing off of it into the open air. The cold had receded. The cliff was smaller now, silhouetted by a small, starry break in the clouds. That weightlessness had turned to something else. There was an impact, a splashing of water, and then his thoughts gave way to a silent darkness.
“Hey, Applejack! Come look and see what I found!”
He was warm. He was warm, and there was dry grass beneath him. He could feel the gentle soothing glow of the sun over his bark, wrapping him in memories of perfect days. He let out a long breath of contentment and rolled over to expose his belly to the wonderful warmth. He could see the faint glow of the sun; a dim halo, shining through his eyelids.
“Oh, you’re awake!”
Shock shot through his body at the strange, high-pitched, chirrup, pulling his eyes open and tensing every branch. He rolled back onto his stomach and snapped his head to face whatever creature dared intrude in the forest.
He wasn’t in the forest. He was inside of a low-roofed cave, sitting on a pile of dead yellow grass, and hemmed in on all sides by trees entwined so close to one another that it was impossible to see through them. The glowing warmth he had mistaken as familiar came from a strange shining rock supended above him. Fear immediately replaced his short-lived burst of righteous anger, and he raised himself to all fours. A burst of pain came from one of his hind legs; an awful burning, grating of branch on jagged branch. He let out a yelp and fell back into the pile of strange-smelling grass, scattering it all around as he scooted himself into a corner of the horrible entrapment.
“Hey there, little fellah, there’s no reason to be scared.”
The creature was still here. It must have captured him; carried him away to its lair. He let his eyes follow his ears to the source of the call, up to the top edge of the tiny tree ring, across from him. There, a short leap above his head’s height, perched atop the strange wooden wall and holding itself in place with two blunt forelegs, was the awful creature.
It looked about the same size as him, with the same basic body structure, but there were few similarities beyond that. A pale yellow body of flesh and hair rather than wood and leaf, a lack of claws, a bright red brush of a mane, and giant, orange-rimmed eyes resulted in the strangest creature he had ever seen. It bared its flat, blunted teeth at him and gave another chirrup.
“My name’s Applebloom.”
He stared at the ridiculous little creature, his pain forgotten and his fear pausing as he realized that there was no way he had been captured by this yellow thing; it couldn’t possibly hunt even the smallest of the prey creatures, much less a member of the mighty pack!
“I’m the one who rescued you!”
This must be a cub, like him; a fully grown one must have captured him, possibly a whole pack of them.
“Well, I’m the one who found you, at least; my big sis, Applejack, did the real rescuing.”
Keeping an eye on the yellow cub, who seemed insistent on assaulting his ears with its high-pitched chirping, he tried to raise himself to all fours again. He moved carefully, testing each leg before putting any real weight on it. He stopped almost as soon as he tested his left hind leg and bit back another yelp. A quick glance confirmed his initial suspicion: the main branch in his shin had snapped in half, leaving that claw hanging loose and useless. He must have broken it in the fall. He growled at the useless appendage, baring his frustration at how difficult this would make his escape. A sudden change in the yellow creature’s pitch and tone drew his attention back. The creature’s grin had dropped into a sad frown, and its already-large eyes seemed to have somehow grown even bigger.
“Oh no! Applejack said you got banged up, but I didn’t realize it was that bad!”
He followed the path of those mesmerizing orange eyes and realized they were trained on his injury. Was this thing concerned for him?
No. It was an intruder, and intruders didn’t care for anything but themselves; they sought to steal from or endanger the entire forest, and must therefore be run off or eliminated. Such was the purpose of the pack. He shifted his claw so that it was hidden from the creature’s view and returned its gaze with a sneer. Rather than realize the folly of facing down a protector of the forest, however, the creature ignored his disdain and almost immediately perked back up.
“But don’t you worry a bit; my big sis will get you fixed up in no time at all! You’ll just have to wait a little while; she went into town to get a few things for our Hearth’s Warming meal tonight.”
Realizing this thing wasn’t going to change his situation anytime soon, he slumped back into the hay and narrowed his eyes at the yellow noisemaker. If he was going to fight a big one of these in his state, even with how comedically puny this one seemed, he’d better conserve his strength.
The creature seemed to notice his lack of excitement and paused for a moment before turning its head away, behind itself. It raised its forelegs and dropped away, behind the strange wall, and out of his sight. He barely had time to wonder if the noisemaking was finished before it popped back into place, this time with something in its mouth. He followed the path of the object in confusion as the creature let it drop down into his enclosure and then went right back to its chirruping.
“I almost forgot; I brought you a slice of apple pie, to help you get to feeling better!”
He stared at the object for another moment before returning to his silent glaring at the yellow thing. Whatever it was that had just been put in here with him, he wanted nothing to do with it.
The creature kept a hopeful face for another moment, but its smile drooped with uncertainty when he made no motion to investigate its presentation. It gave a hopeful chirrup and motioned towards the object.
“Don’t you like apples?”
He stayed unwavering. Whatever this little outsider wanted was of no concern to him.
It frowned at him for a little while longer before perking up again.
“That’s alright. I’ll see you later; Happy Hearth’s Warming!”
It chirruped to him, waved a foreleg, and dropped back down out of sight.
He stared at the empty spot where it had sat, and waited for it to reapear. Nothing; it stayed gone, and the cave stayed quiet.
Realizing he was now alone, he took a moment to examine his situation. The space he was trapped in was barely large enough to fit two full-grown packwolves, nose to nose. The strange trees surrounding him rose to the cave ceiling on every side except for where the yellow creature had been perched; there, they only rose halfway, leaving an opening that he could easily jump up to. If he had use of all his legs, of course. In his current state, escape seemed pretty much impossible.
Having done all the examination he could with his eyes, he closed them, took a deep breath through his nose, and began sifting through the abundance of strange smells. Strange dead grass, strange animals, more smells like that weird yellow creature, and… Something wonderful. Taking in another deep breath, he allowed the beautifully delicious smell to fill his snout. He went to take another sniff, but stopped when he bumped his snout against something.
Opening his eyes, he realized that he had moved and followed the smell to its source: The strange object dropped by the yellow creature. Curious now, he examined it, and found that the delicious smell was coming from inside the wrappings of a rough, woven grass. He pulled the wrap away and snapped up the revealed smelling thing in a single bite.
His mouth was laughing. Every part of his tongue felt alive with warmth and joy, a sensation of bliss unmatched by any prey he had ever before eaten. He felt as if he had just bitten off and swallowed a piece of the sun; the same gentle glow of happiness and pleasure from before the cold seemed to have been concentrated into a single, sweet, fruity flavor.
He let the sensation wash over him until it faded completely. When he could no longer taste the wondrous flavor, he sighed in contentment and opened his eyes. The discarded wrap lay empty, and the creature’s perch unoccupied. He stared at the dark, empty opening as it occurred to him that he had just eaten a gift. A gift from an outsider. He whipped his head back down and sniffed all around the grass wrap and floor of the enclosure to make sure he hadn’t missed any crumbs.
Having decided there was nothing left, he hobbled back to his corner on the grass pile and sat down to wait for a change in circumstances. He narrowed his eyes at the opening, watching, searching for any early warning that could give him an opening. Staring in anticipation of any way to get back at these nasty outsiders.
Gift.
He blinked. Then refocused his glare. Then he blinked again.
He woke up. The high-pitched chirruping ringing in his ears told him that the yellow thing had returned, and a deeper, slower reply told him that it had brought something a bit more troublesome along with it. He got into a crouch, as best as he could with his useless claw, and bared his teeth in a silent growl. The opening stayed empty, but he could hear the creatures coming nearer. Then the deeper pitch rang out, and he got his first look at his captor.
Taller than a full-grown wolf, but not quite as long. Much larger than the yellow creature, but still in the same proportions. Strangely colored orange coat and yellow mane, but strikingly familiar green eyes. Strong, much stronger than him. This wasn’t going to end well.
“Well, hey there, critter! Let’s get you fixed up, so as we can get you home tomorrow, huh?”
He stared at the orange creature, fear once again sliding into confusion as he noticed a familiar lack of malice in the giant eyes and blunt grin he was faced with. The reappearance of the yellow creature in its previous spot briefly drew his attention. It waved a foreleg at him, and then turned to look at its orange counterpart. He tried to steel himself, to refocus on his defense and goal of escape, to block out the chirruping exchange of these two bizarre outsiders and—
‘Here we go!”
The orange creature shouted and pushed forwards, and the tree wall between it and him slid sideways and out of sight. He froze at the surprise, and his attacker jumped at the opportunity. Literally jumping on top of him, the creature immediately immobilized him and put a hold on his head. He struggled, tried to twist and bite. HIs teeth were his greatest weapon, and it seemed like he wasn’t the only one who knew that; out of the corner of his eye, partially obstructed by swirling grass, he saw the yellow creature toss what looked like a coil of dead vines toward the larger one. Moments later, the vines were wrapped tightly around his muzzle, completely stopping his jaws from moving at all.
He felt the weight on his back shift, and took the opportunity to lash out with one of his claws. Hot blood and a stiffening from the crushing weight signaled that his attack had been successful, and a grunt of pain was a songbird's call of joy and victory. He squirmed, trying to swing another blow, but the orange creature was too strong and too crafty. It shifted, and he was stuck, completely unable to make any meaningful movements, no matter how he twisted and strained.
He whined once more, and then fell limp. He had failed the pack, and would never return to the patrol. He felt a beating in his ears, a dull rushing as the smaller creature moved into the enclosure and carried something behind him, out of his field of vision. A sharp stinging in his injured leg was a harbinger of his end, and he had no heart left to resist it; he would never see the Mother again. He kept limp, closed his eyes, and waited.
And waited.
He opened his eyes, confused as to why he was still able to do so, and realized that nothing had changed. The two creatures were chirruping away at each other and occasionally poking his injured leg. Just as he was about to test his situation again, the yellow one ran back across his vision and returned to her usual perch. The larger one, in a few, quick movements, loosed his jaws, jumped off his back, exited the enclosure, and slid the strange wall back into place.
He laid there, stil, for another moment, in pure shock. That was it? He snapped to all fours and stared at the two. The orange one was resting its forelegs on top of the wall, and they were both staring at him again with their giant, calm, eyes. His eyes darted to a small cut on of the larger’s forelegs; he had done that. He glanced at the yellow one, then back at the orange.
No malice. No anger.
He barked at them, frantic with confusion, and the larger finally chirruped back a response.
“Happy Hearth’s Warming, little varmint. We’ll see you in the morning.”
The two then turned and disappeared back into the hazy dark. He stood and stared at the void left by their absence, shaking. Moments passed, and nothing changed. He took a step back, and paused. He had just stepped back on his injured claw, but there had been no pain. He turned to look and was greeted by a sturdy bundle of lean, short branches tied to his shin with some of that strange grass wrapping. He tested the leg with more weight, and it held with hardly any feedback at all.
His eyes snapped back to the opening, and without another thought, he leaped up, out, and into the void. He landed lightly on what felt like more dead grass. A brush of air against his ears told him that he was no longer trapped in that tiny space, and he breathed a tight sigh of anticipation. Following his nose towards the fresh air and his eyes towards a dim smattering of light, he stumbled his way through the dark to the opening of the cave. Another frantic step, and he was outside again.
It was night, it was cold, and the stars were out and shining down on him. On him, and what appeared to be a large field, outside of the forest’s borders. He swept his vision across the area, turned, and was greeted by the most beautiful sight he has seen in ages: trees. The gnarled, twisted, aged patterns and shapes of the forest’s signature inhabitants had been burned into his mind, and he knew them immediately.
He stepped towards home, breathing deep to take in the familiar smell, and stopped when he smelled something unexpected. Bright, warm, fruity. He turned around and faced the giant, aboveground, wooden cave he had just escaped. The smell came from elsewhere. He followed it, nose high, and ears pricked, around the edge of the bizarre structure, and set eyes on one even more bizarre.
A cave, even bigger and more misshapen than the one he had just rounded, sat upon a hill a short run in front of him. Bright lights shone out from every opening and ran across the fields, followed by a rushing mixture of delicious smells. He waited only a moment before running up the hill. He kept to the darkest path and stayed low, straining every sense for any possible danger or chance of recapture. His thoughts were a furious cycle of seeking answers and cursing his unwillingness to let questions lie.
He stopped and crouched underneath a low opening in the cave. Bright light was shining out above his head, delicious smells were swirling in his nose, and his heart was beating wildly and painfully in his chest. He could hear chirruping from inside; many of them, all different pitches, and all of them happy and excited. Steeling himself against fear, for possibly the last time, he raised himself to the opening and looked inside.
Creatures. All shapes and sizes, all ages, all colors. There was a whole pack of them, and they were behaving like a pack; some eating, some conversing, some playing. All of them were smiling their strange, flat grins, and each and every one of their oversized eyes were bright and cheery. Not a single one was injured or sad, not a single one was left in the cold; all of them were happy. And there, in the center, was the orange one.
She raised her head and called the others to attention. They all fell silent to watch. She raised her foreleg, her injury covered in a familiar wrapping, and let loose a string of rousing chirrups. All the rest replied in company. She downed a piece of fruity wonder, and bowed. All the rest stomped and cheered and hugged and laughed and gathered together again.
She was the Captain, they were the pack. This was their home, and he was the intruder. He had invaded their territory, but, instead of driving him out, instead of destroying him for the crime of injuring one of their own, they had helped him. They had healed him and protected him. They had given him his freedom.
He turned away from the scene and ran back down the hill, and didn’t stop until he was at the treeline. He paused for a moment, and looked up at the beautiful, clear sky above him. He felt the cold air rush around him, and shivered. Then he perked his ears, and strained for a moment before catching a few quiet notes of happiness. He stepped into the forest, into familiar territory, and on his way home.
He was warm.
