Warmth

Snow skittered over the frozen landscape, flakes getting caught in nooks and crannies, drifts piling up around tree trunks. The cold gleam of the winter sun filtered through the broken canopy of frost covered branches and deep green pine needles. The breeze was the only movement, the rest of the forest seemingly suspended in and icy chill.

Traces of animal life still broke the illusion of stillness, giving a glimpse of the still–present life in this stretch of wild. A dash of rabbit prints, jumping from hole to hole. The brush of a bird's feathers, diving for its food.

Among all the paths of winter life, a particular pair of tracks stood out. Paw prints tinted red, weaving a bright, glaring path between the trees.

At the end of it lay a fox, breathing heavily, its breath ragged in its throat. Its belly was larger, round under its soft fur, pregnant with her first litter.

She whined, leaning down to lick at her paw — the source of the blood that marked her trail. It was torn, bleeding and mangled, unable to be walked on or used to burrow. The wire of snare was still wrapped tightly around it, digging into her fur and sending searing pain up her leg.

Her head fell back to the snow, even the usually soothing licks causing too much pain to bear. Thoughts raced through her mind. She hadn't been able to hunt since the day before being injured. She needed to find somewhere sheltered to weather the night. She still hadn't found a den to have her cubs in. What would happen to her? What would happen to her cubs?

Another whine escaped her maw. She had lost a lot of blood. In a panic when she had been caught by the snare, she had tried to tear the wire loose, only resulting in it digging deeper into her leg and drawing blood. More frantic struggle led only to more pain; terrified biting, gnawing, and scratching only hurting herself more. The fear and adrenaline covered up the pain before, but then the shock set in, creeping up her leg and filling her chest.

That was two days ago now. The wound still hadn't closed and was still bleeding, her fur drenched in sweat and melted snow. She hadn't eaten since the trap, and finding a burrow where she could dry off was next to impossible when she couldn't dig.

She was tired, and now that she had laid down she didn't know if she could get back up. The cold had seeped into her bones. She closed her eyes and whined again, this time not from pain, but from fear.

She felt cheated. She was so close to starting a family, so close to having a chance, only to be hurt at the last final steps of her journey. What hurt the most, more than the snare around her paw, is that she knew that in her panic she had hurt herself more than the snare did. If she had stayed calm and gently worked to remove the wire, she could have escaped unharmed. But instead she panicked, tearing and lashing out at it; only hurting herself and making wire dig in deeper.

Tears escaped from her closed eyes and streaked down her snout. She knew she didn't have the energy to keep going. Already it felt like her fur had frozen to the ground, trapping her in place, making her body feel infinitely heavier than it was. She finally let herself relax, giving into the cold and drifting into a dark and restless sleep.

The forest spirit stepped out from behind the tree they had been watching from and slowly approached the fox. They looked young but weary, and had the gentle and quiet stride of someone who was weighed down by their memories. They had watched and followed the soon–to–be mother fox for the last several days, seeing her get injured and hoping against the best odds that she would be able to push through the wounds she had received.

Much to the spirit's anger, they knew the laws of the forest prevented them from helping in such situations. They must not help or harm in any way that could impact the outcome of a life, a fact that had tormented them through all their days as the forest's steward. To interfere was to influence, and the consequences could be unpredictable and devastating. It was a rule that caused much frustration and grief.

Even still, the spirit found their own ways to comfort and aid. They could feel the pain and sorrow radiating from the fox like heat from a forest fire, and they sat carefully in the snow next to its sleeping form. Its body seemed to rattle with each pained breath, paws jerking fearfully from what may have been a nightmare.

The spirit thought for a moment, looking over the fox, studying her fur and features. Softly, they placed their hand on her side, and all at once the fox's pain became more visceral, tangible to them. They winced, heart broken and heavy with the hurt.

Taking a deep breath themselves, the spirit pushed from within and worked to share a small bit of warmth with the fox. The feeling of spring, the happiness of warm, kind sunlight filtering through fresh leaves, the joy of seeing fox kits play and frolic through wildflowers. The spirit focused on the last most of all, tears welling in their eyes as they knew the fox would never be able to truly experience it for herself. Gradually, the fox stilled, whines subsiding and tail even wagging weakly as the warm and happy dreams played through its mind. The spirit, now weeping, looked to the sky and cursed silently. Wishing they could do so much more than only providing comfort in the last hours of life.

As time passed, the fox's breath became weaker; movement of her chest lighter and lighter until it was gone altogether. The color and vibrance seemed to drain from her fur, her tail letting out its last joyful flick.

The spirit stood, wiping away their tears. The memories of warmth and joy had melted the snow and ice where they had sat and where the fox still lay, soft moss and blooming clover providing a peaceful resting place. Stooping to give their last goodbyes to the fox, they gently pat and scritched between its soft ears.

"I know you blamed yourself for much of the hardship you experienced throughout your life, but even still, you kept pushing to do your best. Regardless of the hurt, you kept going, doing everything you could to stay hopeful until the very end. I hope with all my heart that you and your kits will not experience the same pain in whatever may come after this life."

Turning away, the spirit slowly walked through the trees, not wanting to leave but heart too heavy to look back. Aching with the pain of having another innocent animal pass too soon, the spirit returned to their duties, grateful, at least, that they were able to provide some comfort in the last moments. Snow still fell gently, slowly covering the bloodied tracks and the fox that had left them.

Continued by Spring.