the stream has begun to freeze along its shallower banks. thin plates of ice gather where the current grows sluggish, breaking apart beneath the occasional careless hoof of a caribou. fa’liya watches them drift downstream before lowering her muzzle to drink. the water is painfully cold. she takes only a little, pausing between mouthfuls to ease the discomfort gathering beneath her ribs.

behind her, the herd mills about in quiet conversation. a cow calls for her calf, and somewhere farther upstream comes the answering bleat, thin and insistent. fa’liya lifts her head to listen. she has been thinking rather often about the things that survive winter. how little they sometimes resemble themselves come spring.

her reflection wavers beneath the current, pale eyes distorted beyond recognition. she studies it for a moment, then reaches forward to drink again.

dark ears swivel toward the approaching girl, followed shortly by her pale gaze, and something resembling a smile softens her otherwise solemn expression. hello, tatsaaye'. the greeting comes gently, if a little breathlessly. she lifts her muzzle from the stream, watching the younger girl shake herself with such enthusiasm that a nearby cow raises her head to investigate the disturbance.

yes, she admits. a little. this is something of an understatement. her paws have been unpleasantly cold since morning, and the chill has settled into her bones despite the sunshine. she shifts her weight, tucking one forepaw beneath her chest. i am cold often. even when it is warm. she does not elaborate upon this peculiar failing of her body, although she has long since accepted it as one among many.

her attention wanders toward the herd. one of the calves—a fawn— has approached the water, carefully investigating a broken sheet of ice with its muzzle. fa’liya watches it prod the unfamiliar thing, then recoil when it shifts beneath its nose. that one have never seen ice before, she says, almost fondly. she was born a little after you were, when it was warm. this will be her first winter. it seems such a small thing, a creature learning the world one season at a time, but she finds herself lingering upon it longer than necessary.

she looks back toward tatsaaye', then. and yours. she gives the slight tilt of her head, are you excited for it?

the offer surprises her into a small smile. pelts, plural, as though tatsaaye' might simply gather an armful from beneath the nearest tree. you are very kind, she tells her, and means it. caan has made one for me already. but perhaps another, when snow comes. she imagines herself buried beneath several thick hides, with only her nose visible, and the thought amuses her. perhaps that would be enough to keep the cold out, though she suspects even an entire caribou's winter coat would fail to warm her paws.

fa’liya watches the grin spread across tatsaaye's face, bright and toothy, although something about it strikes her as a little uncertain. she knows that expression. there are many things one may say with confidence while hoping desperately to be believed, and she has learned that conviction is not always the same as certainty.

i think she is right, she says after a moment. many of you will, as long as you hold to your strength. she speaks gently, not wishing to make too much of the matter. tatsaaye' is young, but she has already endured enough to understand that the world does not always reward determination. fa'liya has seen stronger creatures falter for less than a difficult winter.

nearby, the calf ventures toward the ice again, emboldened by its mother's presence. this time she tests the slippery surface with one narrow hoof, withdrawing it when the thin crust gives way. i have always liked winter, she confesses, turning her attention back to tatsaaye'. i think this year's will be the best yet. she has no particular reason to believe so, beyond the prophecy bestowed upon her.