It was evening, and the sun was starting to set on the distant horizon. Eilidh kept her head out of the den on this day, feeling a little better about it day by day. Snow covered the ground, but it rather clear. Everyone was out still, and she was rather alone at the moment. She didn’t really like it, but what could she do?

She whined to herself as she laid her head on her white paws. Snow wasn’t so bad. It was cold, but nothing intolerable so far today. She had let her paws touch it, and she stared at the stuff, trying to figure it out. It was then that a little fat bird plopped near her on a dead stem, peeping about.

Her eyes grew wide, blinking as the thing peeped and peeped, moving back and forth. It was not the call of warning or panic, but she didn’t quite understand what it was trying to say. Her raw ears lifted. ”T-this one hears,” she says gently, and the bird flaps over to another stem a few feet away.

”W-wait!” she calls, patting the ground three times before crawling on the ground towards the bird. It bounces to another stem, and then another. She feels a compulsion to follow, and to listen to the calls. ”I w-want to unders-s-tand,” she replies, her body scraping against the snow, and feeling the urge to turn around. But…it had been so long since a bird talked to her. She had to follow.

The bird stops singing then, and she finds herself holding her breath. Why did it stop? Was something near?