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.