Bitter Cold
It is cold. I am cold.
My fur is soaked. The liquid is numbing me.
Panic fills me – I am trapped.
I try to escape. I claw desperately at the slippery surface. I break off chunks of the cold ice as I try to flee.
But I cannot escape the liquid death.
It was so simple – jump across the frozen river to get to the prey. But the ice was too thin where I landed, and I broke through. I never knew it would be my last leap.
I must survive. I must. But my legs are refusing to work. They are numb. Frozen. They will not and cannot move.
I began to sink. I cannot feel my body anymore. I am slipping away.
I try to struggle again. I try to escape. To flee. To run.
But I can't.
My nose slips beneath the surface of the frigid liquid.
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A/N:
Another old piece. The short sporadic sentences are intentional. Please review.
I prefer these types of stories to be vague. I try to write in the way a wolf would experience things. They operate mostly on instinct, so I try to write like the wolf is acting on instinct all the time. For example, I don't think a wolf would stop and analyze how white/beautiful the snow is when it is freezing to death. It's primary goal would be to survive.
