Katpride
Story Collector
Winters in the forest are always tricky. All of the small, warm things go to ground or fly off to warmer places. As a small, warm thing herself, Aspen has spent much of the winter in her den. The Fall was plentiful with berries and nuts and prey, but the snows were late and she had to eat the berries and prey before they went off. All that remain are the nuts. Nuts do not a meal make, she thinks, sitting on her pile of pelts and looking forlornly at her nearly empty stockpile.
It would be easier if she were truly a bear, and could sleep the long sleep to avoid her hunger. But she cannot ignore the gnawing of her stomach no matter what form she takes. Everything must eat.
She wraps herself in many layers of fabrics and squeezes out of the narrow entrance to the cave she calls her home. She’s lucky not to meet much competition for the shelter. Sometimes smaller animals will wander in and become her meal, but she thinks the larger ones are too big to get through the relatively small opening.
She keeps her belly low to the ground but above the snow as she creeps deeper into the forest, her four white paws spread wide to make less sound. She knows there are rabbit dens this way. Maybe she will be lucky again, and be able to catch one that has ventured out.
Her ears twitch, angling to catch the quiet sounds of little paws. There! - a small rabbit stretches out of the cover of a bush, and she stills. Perhaps, with her white fur and pale skin, she will be overlooked.
Her held breath pays off, and the rabbit hops further out into the open. Aspen shuffles as quietly as she can, angling just slightly closer. The still air carries the scent of the animal to her nose, and she knows she will not lose it. Just a little more-
Her stomach growls loudly, and the rabbit arrows away. Aspen breaks her own cover to give chase, swiping at the retreating tail. It remains just stubbornly out of reach, leading her around trees and through bushes in a merry chase. Maybe in the Summer, she would have caught it. But her limbs are weak with hunger and she slows before her prey, allowing it to dart off into the undergrowth unchased.
The running has made her more hungry, but she looks back at the torn path she has made and resigns herself to another meatless dinner. In her haste, she surely scared away any other easily frightened prey in the area.
So she begins the walk home, rising to her hind paws to rest her forepaws and spine.
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