In his dreams, he bound through endless snow-drift alongside his Ma, their laughter mingling with the bitter winds of their home. His clumsy legs, not yet built to carry him so fast, struggling to churn through the thick blanket while his mother gleefully urged him to keep up.

She looked so happy, with the early morning sun of their tundra framing her soft features. Her dark eyes glittering with joy and affection that fought off the chill.

It was boyish, childish nostalgia, of days better and bright. That weird feeling he felt so often but could never name, as he tried to chase after her. But she kept running faster, farther...and the dream hadn't felt so beautiful anymore, not when she was disappearing into the trail of snow dust she left behind.

In that dream, he cried out for her, his gentle voice distant and fuzzy. He begged for her to slow down, to stay! But she couldn't hear him. She kept running, running—his lungs began to burn and his feet began to ache and—

He awoke in a blanket of snow, with a shuddered gasp and eyes glassy with fear. This wasn't their little den near the Ptarmigan roost, and he wasn't curled into the lush belly of his mother. There was none of her warmth. There was no scent of milk and feathers. The tundra looked different, somehow, in the eyes of a child afraid.

Ma? There is nothing but the gentle howl of wind, the suffocating stillness of the tundra.

Ma, where are you? He cried with urgency. All too suddenly, the overwhelming sense of being alone made his throat feel tight, and jewels of tears glistened atop his blonde cheeks.