𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

SNOWDROP

    I flick my ears, pausing. Underneath the snow, the scratching noises continue. I move slowly, getting ready to pounce. Beneath me, the Lemmings don't know what's coming.

      My snout parts easily through the soft snowdrift, and I close my jaws around a warm, squirming body. I end its life quickly, a quick bite. The unspoken law of all predators on the island.

      Just because we are born to kill, doesn't mean we have to end lives painfully. I shake my head, blinking snow from my eyes. A few flakes drift lazily down from the gray sky.

      I leap nimbly over and scoop up the other lemmings I've caught. Five, that's enough to make a good blanket. I smile slightly. I've been saving up my lemming pelts to make a giant super blanket, but I haven't quite decided if I'm going to use it outside, as insulation, or inside, as bedding.

      In the distance, just as the snow begins to fall, the wolves howl. Just as they howled on my first Midwinter. Just as they will howl for all of the following months before the warmth drives them north.

      The month of the Howlings is in the dead of winter, right during Midwinter. Tonight is my Midwinter Feast. A tradition that carries on from Old Springtrap, the fox who raised me.

      I move through the trees slowly, taking my sweet time, then, noticing that the snow has started to fall in sheets, I pick up the pace. I don't want to get lost in the snow, and I should be getting the fire going before it's too cold.

      From out of the trees, a ghastly shape looms. Fitted pieces of wood, covered in strips of animal hides, I know it isn't much to look at, but it's cozy and warm, which is impressive considering just how cold it gets around here.

      I walk up and nose my way under the door flap. Inside it's a little warmer, but the heat is slowly fading. The floor is covered in heaps of animal skins, which have been sewn together into what I call 'blankets'.

      I call them this because, when spread out, they can cover large areas, like snow blankets. At the back of the cozy mess is a cold hearth dug out of the stone. The den slopes down a bit, but other than that, I'm pretty proud of my handy work.

      I drop the lemmings right next to the dead fire and set to work. I set the water jars out on the small windowsill, carefully lifting the flap. Then I get the fire going, not moving away until it roars against its stone confines.

      I quickly skin the lemmings, peeling their hides off of them in one quick movement I learned from Old Springtrap. I set them out over the fire, allowing them to cook, and hang the pelts out on a stripped branch outside.

      They'll stay there until the month of Fleeting Warmth when I can tan them. Then, I'll spend the rest of the short summer hunting and tanning all the prey I can. I usually spend all year sewing.

      I move to my food stores and pull out my jar of salt, my jar of rosemary, and my jar of parsley. And there, sitting on a bed of fresh ice, the jewel of my feast. A stoat, killed only earlier today. I smile, taking it out to the fire.

      It'll be the main star of my feast, just like last year. I smile,  sitting back and admiring my work. Outside, the wolves howl, and I feel a pang of something in my chest. The wolves have each other, while I have no one.

      I don't need anyone though! It's all about want and need, you see. I want company, just like I want shelter, food, and water. But here's the difference, food and water are needs, and I can't survive on a night like this without shelter.

      But company, a friend to spend the only nights with, that is a want, and I can survive without it. I should know just how dangerous wants can be, I experienced it firsthand.

      On the day of my birthday, I wanted to do something special, so I decided. I was going to catch myself a rabbit, a big, plump one too. I spent all day looking for this rabbit and just managed to get back to my den before the snowstorm hit.

      I learned on that day, that wants are a dangerous thing. Still, there's something compelling about the call of the wolves. 

      'Come, gather and celebrate, it is the time, the eve of the Midwinter,' they sing.

      "Wants, Snowdrop, wants. Stay away from them," I say aloud.

      I put the spices on my stoat and sit back, listening to the calls of wolves announcing the arrival of the Midwinter Eve. I snuggle in amongst my blankets and eat, it's quite a feast I have laid out in front of me.

      I take the rain jars off of the windowsill and place them inside to defrost. I go into the food storage and get out my one jar of Winterberry juice. I've been saving this all year.

      I lean back and take a big swig, enjoying the fizzy flavors dancing over my tongue. I let out a contented sigh, and smile. See, no nonsense about a friend. I'm perfectly fine on my own