The fresh winter snow, which I am no stranger to, is unforgiving despite the thick fur that had always adorned me. But lineage does nothing to cure the stinging that had recently settled in the nerves of my nose. I can only remember the week previous, the week I'd so far endured in this polar hell. There'd been nothing but snow-covered pines for miles . . . and miles . . . and endless, arduous miles. I'm sure my paw pads had hardened into rock or softened into sensitive mush. I've been trying my best not to be vain, cracked paw pads hindered my perseverance, but they were never the end of the world, lest they begin to bleed; in which case, I would be more concerned by a larger carnivore retracing my steps through the snow, and not the pain. But this snowscape? I'm still yearning to see life that isn't a hare frozen stiff in the snow, someone that isn't hostile.

I begin to wonder how long I'd been walking, the haze of the previous weeks lazily etched into the back of my cranium as I continue in spite of the ache. I stopped in my paws, lowered my head, and turned to look at the pawprints I'd left behind. I've begun to miss the tightness of the harness that would hug my chest and ribs as I would pull something along. Resilience. But that won't be nearly enough, will it? Just ahead is the start of a steep, snowy mountain where I do not doubt that larger, ravenous lone wolves are lurking. I haven't ever had to fight a fully-grown, fully-scarred wolf with no higher morals—no more than the idea in their head that they'll get a nice fresh meal out of a traumatized husky half their size. It's an upward incline, a few points where I can scale it until . . . in the distance, difficult to spot, behind collections of trees, there's a rocky dip.

Curiosity takes a sharp hold on me. What are the chances that I find a friend instead? Blue eyes flicker from here to there, and how long it might take to get up. 'I've scaled worse... right?' I tell my head before I breathe in a sharp, almost frightened breath. Horrified, maybe, of what I might see. 'I've been through worse, I've been through much... much worse!' My conscious brain chants, relentlessly trying to tell me that this is worthwhile. It wouldn't.

With one last deep breath in—and my throat stinging from the cold that hits it—I move ahead, quietly as I can, inching up the slope like I'm pulling several tons of luggage behind me with no help in sight. My bones have been weak for a while now, and they're weak-er as I make my way up. This view had better be worth it. Eventually, I reach a part of the cliff where it evens out, so I don't have to pull myself all the way. I stabilize myself. But then I'm saddened to note that I am not alone. My worst fear... but? Is that a wolf? Is that snow? No. Maybe it's the miniature snowflakes covering my lashes, assaulting me every time I blink. It doesn't help. I have to double-take, frozen in my tracks. Man. I'm not sure what to do, if I should move or if I should say something. Usually, I remember I always have something to say. Is this fear? Fear. My tail's swaying as I overthink any and every possible outcome. None of which end up with me surviving any fight. A nervous groan escapes my throat just as I consider backing away slowly. Breathe again, and again. It's all I'm doing. Wheezing.

I end up forcing a toothy grin. They seem to be in their own world. Why would I ruin that? Seen any wolves 'round here? I chuckle, slowly easing into myself and taking a step or two forward. Hey. If I died here and now? I'd go out saying something stupid.