A Winter Gift

by Sedge Hare

Just before dusk, the snow began. Gently and sparsely at first, then in growing, swirling swarms, it fell through the freezing air, from the clouds to the tops of the trees and down to the ground, softly piling and spreading. There on the forest floor, the silhouette of a small figure flitted across a fresh patch of white. The creature hurried from one shadow to another, fitfully making his way through the darkening woods. As he ran, his tail waved behind him like the end of a long scarf. He stopped for a moment and it curled up tight against his back as a cold gust rustled his fur. He clutched the sack he was carrying to his chest and lifted his face into the wind, his nose twitching urgently.

The young squirrel, Stephen, shivered as the scent of the air proved what was already becoming clear: a storm was on the way. It had already begun. “You should have left earlier!” he scolded himself silently. He knew that staying so late was pushing his luck. “Isn’t that just like me,” he thought, “to get caught in a storm when they need me most.” He looked up into the sky, now almost dark except for a dull grey light emanating from the gathering clouds. I’m not even sure I can find my way home, he said to himself, and shivered again at the thought.

He hadn’t meant to stay so late at the grove near the frozen pond. He and his mom just found that spot last week, far from home, in fact a little beyond where they felt comfortable traveling, but they had searched everywhere else without much luck. He could still picture the relief in his mother’s eyes when they climbed down that hill, into a bowl-shaped depression in the earth, and she saw the plump red berries on the shrubs, acorns still fresh enough to eat, and a few medicinal herb plants with good leaves left. During the harsh winter, this place was protected from the worst of the elements, it seemed, by the shape of the land surrounding it and the tall trees above.

Mom had been determined to celebrate the Winter feast, despite how hard this year had been. “As long as we’re alive, we’re going to keep on living,” she said. Stephen thought they should be more careful, keep rationing their food rather than using so much just for a party. But Mom was determined, as she always was. “It’s not just a party, it’s a tradition. We need it now more than ever. We’ll get by somehow,” she said.

The Winter feast was yesterday, and Stephen had to admit it had lifted their spirits. The memory of roasted acorns and berry cider warmed his belly a little even now. Most of all, it was seeing his brother and sister smile as they fell asleep with full stomachs for the first time in weeks that gave him hope they could carry on. But now their storeroom was almost empty again, and even worse, Mayblossom had come down with a fever, so Mom had to stay home with her. That left Stephen to go out, face the bitter cold and wind, and try to scrounge up medicine and enough food to get them through another few days. So even though Mom had told him to be back by dark—warned him, really—he just couldn’t stop gathering acorns, picking herbs and berries, when he knew each one would give them a little more time.

Now, with the provisions gathered in a sack clutched in his paws, Stephen started to wonder if his work would be in vain. Could he find his way in this darkness, with the moon and stars giving off only faint haloes of light behind the clouds and the path hidden by snow? What if he got lost out here in the storm and the cold and … no, he couldn’t even think about that. He willed himself to imagine his little nest in the partly hollowed-out tree trunk, the smoke rising from the fire pit outside, beckoning him to the warmth of home.

With a deep breath, he set his gaze toward the forest ahead, straining to find some landmark, to make some sense of the landscape, but finding only an impenetrable web of silvery tree branches. He trudged forward, unsure of where he was going, but knowing he couldn’t just stand still.

The snow continued to grow stronger and denser, until the air was a swirling mass of pale freezing grey. The wind howled in Stephen’s ears as he walked on, slowly, battling against the gusts pushing back on him, his paws struggling to keep him upright. It wasn’t long until the snow covering the ground was up to the small squirrel’s knees. A growing desperation rose in his throat as he realized he was moving slower and slower, getting colder and colder—and still had no idea if he was even going in the right direction. The wind was blowing furiously, the flakes spinning and whirling wildly. Ahead of him, the forest had faded, like a dream, into a white cloud, only dim outlines of shapes still visible, the white seeming to stretch out into endless nothingness. With a whimper, Stephen fled from the trail to the shelter of a low-hanging evergreen branch and huddled beneath it, trembling. The cold was creeping deeper into his body; he could feel it in his bones now. He grasped his bundle of goods, desperate for some warmth from somewhere, somehow. The faces of his mother, brother, and sisters faded into view before his eyes, and he started to cry softly. It began to sink in that he would never see them again. He was alone out there, completely alone. No one else was foolish enough to be out in that blizzard. He had let them all down. The cold seemed to reach to his heart, draining its strength to beat within him. He curled up and rested his head on his haunches and closed his eyes.

There was a rustle of foliage and snow, not like the wind, but like something alive, and Stephen’s eyes shot open. With a burst of strength pulled from some deep reserve, he darted further back under the tree, pressing himself against its trunk. He smelled something, or someone, strange and powerful, unfamiliar yet perfectly harmonious with the forest. His heart had come to life within him, and he struggled to quiet his quick breaths. But he couldn’t contain an audible gasp as he saw a large white-furred paw brush away the snow in front of his hiding place with one strong, graceful swipe. The paw dropped to the ground with a thump; above it was a leg like an oak trunk. Then the creature seemed to be lowering itself, and Stephen let out a small yelp as a canine nose and muzzle came into view. The creature pushed its nose through the branches, so close to him he could feel the hot breath escaping its nostrils as if it held a fire in its snout.

It spoke. “Don’t be afraid, good creature. I won’t harm you.” His voice seemed to fill up the space, resonating with the wood and earth. Despite what he said, Stephen couldn’t help being awestruck and frightened by the large animal in front of him. He had heard tales of wolves in the forest, even heard strange wails in the distance on moonlit nights, but he and his family had never seen one.

The wolf spoke again. “Come closer to me.” Stephen crept away from the safety of the trunk. The heat radiating from the wolf seemed to envelop Stephen and give him strength. As he neared the front of the sheltered space he could see the creature’s eyes above, yellow and shining like gold, almost seeming to beam light into the darkness below, looking down at him with intense power.

“Who—who are you?” Stephen asked, his voice sounding pathetically small and high compared to the other creature’s. The wolf’s lips curled back slightly, in what might have been a smile.

“I am the ruler of this forest,” was his reply.

Stephen stared at him, unable to speak for a moment. “What do you want with me?” he asked in a quivering voice.

“I want you to follow me.”

Stephen felt his heart seem to fail again within him. “But Sir, the storm is too much for me. I—I don’t think I can survive out there. The snow’s too deep.” The same kindly expression passed over the wolf’s face, the corners of his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Then walk in my tracks,” he said, his voice rumbling softly. The large muzzle pulled back from the hiding spot and the wolf turned, taking a few slow steps away, his massive paws crunching down into the snow, then turned to look at Stephen.

The young squirrel’s heart pounded. If he didn’t step carefully, he could be buried in snow in an instant. The still-whirling flakes and screaming wind could freeze him. And on top of that, he was placing himself at the mercy of a large and powerful predator. But what choice did he have other than to trust him? Stephen gathered up his courage, hefted his load, and stepped out into the snow. In front of the tree, the wolf had left a paw print big enough to stand in. Stephen looked up at him, the Forest King, who responded with that slight smile of his eyes again before turning away. Raising his head high, the wolf gave a wide wave of his tail and set off at an easy, even pace, sending up little white clouds, the thick blanket of snow presenting no more difficulty for him than a layer of mist.

Stephen leaped after him, hurrying to stay behind him, too concerned with keeping up to think about being scared. He watched with concern as the wolf went farther into the distance, his white fur blending in with the snow, until Stephen nearly lost sight of him. But as his paws landed in the wolf’s tracks, he felt a strange sensation beneath him. Somehow the ground felt warm under his feet. Energy was radiating from the wolf’s tracks, thawing his cold toes, rising through his legs and easing the stiffness and fatigue that had set in. Stephen even thought he saw the ground glow for a moment each time the wolf lifted a paw from the snow. As he jumped from one paw print to another, the energy climbed through his body, warming him and giving him strength to follow along faster and faster. Soon he had caught up with the wolf, hopping from one track to another just behind the swaying brush of his tail.

Through the wintry woods they traveled; as the storm blew over and began to calm, the clouds began to dissipate, and the freshly fallen snow reflected the glow of a full moon from the trees and ground all around them. The forest had been transformed into a sparkling dreamscape. Soon Stephen began to recognize familiar landmarks near his home. His heart leaped in his chest as he realized they were nearing his family’s nest. There were the rocks he used to play on, the frozen stream, the familiar old tree, half fallen over. Finally he could see the hole to their nest halfway up the large broken trunk. The wolf, who had been marching ahead at an even, unbroken pace, at last slowed, turned, and sat on his haunches, tall and noble like a mountain before Stephen, the winter wind gently blowing the long fur on the back of his neck.

“Th-thank you Sir,” Stephen said, bowing his head slightly.

“It was my pleasure to see you safely home,” replied the wolf-king. “You have shown great courage, little one.”

“But … why did you bother to help me?” Stephen asked, cautiously looking up into those sparkling yellow eyes.

The wolf smiled and wrinkled his nose slightly. “It was you who braved the cold to help others. Those who do good will find it returned to them.”

Stephen paused a moment, taking in the King’s words. “I’ll never forget this,” he said quietly.

“I shall remember your kindness and loyalty too, young squirrel. Should you ever need help, seek me out.” The wolf-king lowered his head, gently touching his nose to Stephen’s forehead. Then with one fluid motion, he rose on all four legs, turned, and thrust himself into the air, soaring in a long, high arc. He landed gently on the snow and bounded away, disappearing into the forest in a few moments.

Stephen turned back towards the entrance to his home. He took a few tentative steps towards the tree and then, sensing movement inside, scurried up to the entrance.

“Mom? It’s me,” he called as he put his head through the opening. He pushed the sack through and then climbed in, hearing footsteps in the darkness. As he entered, he sensed his mother’s form approaching. They met, he clutched her tightly, and she let out a sob.

“Stephen… you’re home.”

“Mom, I brought the food… berries… the medicine…”

“Stephen, we thought you were lost…”

“It was a miracle, Mom. I don’t even know where to start. But… I’ll try to tell you everything later. For now, let’s get the little ones some food and get this to May,” he said, reaching into the bag to pull out some of the herbs.

Stephen’s Mom hugged him tightly once more, blinking away a tear, before taking some of the things he had collected and climbing to the small nook where the children slept, calling them softly. Stephen suddenly realized how tired he was, and stumbled to his bed.

That night they slept well. They had food, a dry place to sleep, and most of all each other. And the next morning, when Stephen went out to look at the snow in the morning light, he discovered that the spot where the wolf had sat in front of their home had melted, and a small berry bush was growing there. Stephen stared in wonder. He gazed into the direction the wolf had gone, seeing the blinding glare of snow against the morning’s clear sky, the trees covered in pure white, and silently thanked the Forest King.

Copyright 2012 by Sedge Hare. Please do not copy or distribute without prior permission.