Keslova Snow PT1
A boot-clad foot crunched down upon a steep-rising slope of impressionless snow. It wasn't the soft snow like you found in childhoods and winter wonderlands: it was harsh, sharp, made more from callas ice than anything close to tender.
The owner of the foot moved a step. The top layer of ice collapsed beneath him and his leg disappeared, sinking down several inches into the white frost.
"Ff…" he exclaimed at the drop. Then he grunted, lowering his weight towards the ground a little and raising his leg back up the hole. He glanced up to the figure stood a few feet further up, as she turned to check on his condition.
"Come on. It's getting dark."
"It's fine for you," he muttered, "it's just perfect for you— too light to break the ice."
"We have to reach the house before nightfall," she continued, ignoring his comment. "It's over for us if we don't."
The wolf picked up the pace and caught up to the hare, his breaths panting clouds of frost. "Oh, we'll freeze to death, wonderful. I told you this was a bad idea."
"Why, because of the discomfort? Does that really matter right now?"
"Well there… there were other ways we could've—"
"These winds, the ice… it's going to make our scents impossible to follow, Wolfard."
"It's crazy."
"Yes. It's completely crazy. Who, out of all the options we had, would choose the path up Keslova: a frozen mountain followed by a lifeless sierra of jagged rocks?"
"I guess," he grunted. They walked in silence for some minutes, Wolfard slugging with steep steps above the frozen ground, his every effort a struggle to maintain balance on the decaying support the sheet of ice offered. For all the cold, his limbs felt like they were burning, the air sharp, arid in his nose. It stung, so he breathed through gritted teeth. "Flo…"
"Talking's a waste of energy right now, Jim."
"Flo, I want to know how you're doing."
She chuckled, briefly. "Complaining's a waste of energy right now too." The wolf stopped and gazed at the mammal hiking before him. A limp smile managed to pull itself across his tight, frozen features. She hadn't spoken a word of complaint the whole journey, and still she was stoic and enduring to the cold and physical trauma she'd fought against. He shivered, the bodyheat generated by his movement being sapped by the inclemency of the elements-frozen.
"How much further?" he asked, hastening to catch up.
"Maybe two more hours." Moaning, the wolf prised back the sheep-wool gloves and the hem of his several jackets and shirts, and dug down to the watch hugging his bare fur. He glanced at the time, then hurried to pull the material back.
"Eleven hours already," he snorted. "It's a wonder we haven't frozen to death."
"It's not too late to. We're not safe yet."
"How do you do it? Keep going?"
"How do you?"
The wolf thought, reaching up a paw and trying to wipe the frozen respiration from his whiskers. "Guess I don't have a choice."
"Nor do I, Jim. Nor do I."
"We could've fled west with Nick and Judy."
"A group of four's easier to find then two groups of two."
"We don't even know if they're alive still."
"No."
"Think I'd be able to call them later?"
"I would highly advise against it. No doubt communications are being monitored right now."
"Yeah… yeah." Pausing, the wolf looked down to the snow below him. He knelt impulsively and broke a piece of ice, laboriously standing and holding the slither of tasteless pawpsicle beneath his nose. "Uh jeez," he grunted before moving to take a bite.
"Jim."
Startled, the wolf turned to her. "What?"
"What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm thirsty!"
"You'll blister your skin. You drunk all the water already? I told you to ration it!" She paced down the slope of ice, reaching beneath the outermost of her layers. "Finish mine, there's a little left. We can melt as much as we need once we're at the house."
"I… I'm not taking your wa—"
"Just take it."
Reaching out a paw to the small flask of water, the wolf's paw lingered; before, his fingers closed upon Flo's paw and pushed the water back at her. "I'm fine, I'll be fine."
"Then stop wasting our time and keep moving," she demanded, tucking her water away once more and turning to march back up the icy ascent.
They persevered in silence beyond that, the wolf committing to maintaining his energy, and to let Flo retain hers. He scrutinized her — that bundle of thick coats and large hood. He didn't know how Flo was picking a path through the deep drifts of snow, or how she was keeping her resolve so steadfast against the ice around. He would have asked about it, but… issues were many and the answer was trifling.
The climb was getting shallower, though the terrain was growing in its trials. The white snow glistening cold and sharp in the thin air, it sat thick over the large rocks which were strewn in abundance. The steady walk up thick snow became more of a climb over an uneven, often unstable surface. In the places where the snow had melted, or fallen unstuck from the surface of the rock, the bare, grey face of stone could be seen.
Grasping his claw on the raw edge of one of the stones, Wolfard steadied himself as he stepped upon the next of the long river of rocks. Above them hung nothing but sky and grey clouds, the clean blue darkened by the mists. He turned and looked down upon the city, upon the world beneath. The sight was beautiful, in its way, the long expanses of luscious green woods and the rich farmland which laid beyond; the glistening blue of the River Avalon; the distant spires of neighbouring cities on the horizon, glittering like gold in the sun.
The black smoke rising from Zootopia was the only let-down, really…
He turned back towards Keslova, and saw Flo with her paws upon the edge of a rock a little less than half her height. Her legs contracted, then she hurdled herself upon it. Snow kicked up on the rock's surface and her foot lost traction. Her leap turned against her, and she flipped backwards, crashing head first into the harsh, jagged—
Wolfard caught her by her backpack and heaved as she fell, pulling her from the fate of harsh stone. He held her as she found her feet, and set her back down upon the icy ground. She held his paw for a few seconds, but there was no time to linger, and the moment was as fleeting as the warmth of the wolf's breath in the incessant-winter air.
The remnants of the rest of the walk carried without event. The sky darkened with the falling of the sun. The winds increased their efforts, the topmost layer of snow picking up from the floor, spraying Wolfard's face with discomforting dust. The ground levelled out further still, and the consistency of rocks dissipated to a smooth surface of fine snow, small waves of which blew across the sleeping earth.
A white desert.
The sky grew yet darker. The clouds thickened to patches of black-grey above them. No longer could the city of Zootopia be seen behind them, only the flicker of distant flames. Panic betided within the wolf's mind, the darkness closing in with every step they made; the air colder than the wolf ever had felt before, the burning stiffness in his muscles as vivid as fire against his legs. His vision had blurred and his breathing had become shallow and erratic in the unfair air. His mouth was parched, but Flo had long-ago finished the few dregs of liquid left in her bottle.
"Fh... Rose," Wolfard said, his voice raising at the dark rushing of wind around them.
"I know."
"Wuh… we have to—" He choked on his words, on the dryness of his mouth, the numbness of his face against the cold. "Have to find shelter, the sun's going, it'll be pitch black soon."
"I know."
"Do you know… ogh how much fhh-furhter?"
"No. "
"Rose…"
The hare's footfall slowed; she turned about and faced the wolf. "What?"
"Are we as… as good as dead?" She stared into the wolf's face, the snow and ice blowing an ever escalating windstorm. The white around them no longer glistened, just laid in piles of freezing grey. She took her paw and put it upon his cheek, brushing away a little of the snow which had clung to the exposed fur of his muzzle.
"We did the right thing, that's what matters." Nothing whispered, only the sleet blowing around their legs. Wolfard put his paw to Flo's cheek, brushing away the layer of snow from her in turn. He drew his arms closer and began to lower himself to wrap his paws around her freezing and snow-covered coat.
His brow lowered when his mind realized what this gesture was entailing. "No!" he shot, pulling away. "No, not after all this, we're not giving up now." He drew back, recoiling from the surrender he had nearly succumbed to; thus, he moved past the hare, his paw holding on her shoulder and giving her the needed steer. "We need to get higher," he said, "get a look at the horizon before the sun leaves us for good."
They dragged themselves up a mound of snow, their feet scraping on the tractionless ice beneath. At the setting sun, the temperature was lowering rapidly. Falling to his paws and knees, Wolfard managed to pull himself up the steepness. He reached back with his arm for Flo to hold on to, and with the aid of one another, they managed to steady themselves to their feet.
"Please tell me it's around here somewhere," he begged.
"It isn't a big place, but…"
"There-there, what's that?"
"What?"
The wolf pointed, his arm, his voice raising with the excitement of hope. "Right there, look!" Flo followed his pointing to the shape Wolfard had spied on the horizon: the small shape of dark grey against the lighter gray backdrop.
"I… it's impossible to know from here."
"It's something, Flo, it's something! It's not a natural formation whatever it is." He resisted the urge to jog to the house, aware that even just slugging was difficult enough among the freezing winds that had numbed his arms and legs. The gray shape grew in size and definition, growing to the shape of a wooden cabin among the snow. He slowed to a stop and gazed up at it, not quite able to believe the pilgrimage of thirteen hours was over.
Flo moved past him, climbing the small staircase which protected the door from being trapped closed with snow. The door wasn't locked, so she pushed it open easily, turning to the wolf as he climbed the steps behind her.
The inside was no warmer, was no less bone cuttingly chilling than the freezing conditions outside, but, shutting the door, the wolf couldn't hold in the sigh of deep relief. "A barrier between us and the snow…" he muttered, "no awful wind to deal with, a—"
"Through there," Flo cut in, pointing to a door. "There'll be some wood in the chest. Bring it. I'll start a few— a fire."
"Don't you want to rest first?"
"The cold will still… is still killing us, just… a fure, food and a fewr, then rest." Moving to the potbelly stove in the center of the room, she pulled open the door and reached for the ancient newspapers beneath, from where she ripped a page and tore it into strips. Wolfard found the logs in the room she indicated, which was the kitchen.
He returned and placed them beside the stove. "You've burnt the toast," Flo said. "Place stinks."
"I… didn't cook any toast?"
Flo turned and just stared at him, her face impassive. "Oh. Here, take this, I need to…" She turned away from the wolf and stood. Wolfard couldn't see what she was doing, but took the paper and continued making small balls of it which he put into the stove.
Flo hummed quietly behind him, while Wolfard spied a small box of sticks tucked beside the paper. He pulled it over and found a box of matches alongside the sticks. He put a pawfull atop the paper and lit the corners with a match amidst his shivers of cold.
The fire grew quickly, the wood having dried to a bone long ago. The fireplace was the heart of a house, some said. To Wolfard, it almost felt like the place was happy to be alive again. "You okay, Flo?"
"I'll always love you, and make you happy."
Wolfard turned and noticed Flo gazing out the far window. "What?"
"If you will only… say the same. You'll never know dear, how much I love you." Pacing to the hare, the wolf motioned to take her paws, while her cold, airy voice sang on. "Please don't take, my suh-nshine, my… honly—"
"Rose," Wolfard breathed, pulling the hare close to him and pressing his cheek against hers. It startled him how much colder even she was than him. With a gentle pull, the wolf moved the hare away from the freezing draft, coming in from the window, to the warmth of the kindling fire.
"No! Look, help's coming, I need to look… to…" Her expression froze on the wolf, then her brow crept down. Slowly, she pulled her paw free from Wolfard's hold and she pressed her palms against her face. Wolfard didn't try to say anything, just waited, moving only to pull the hare's coat a little tighter around her.
Eventually, without her face leaving her paws, Flo spoke, "Hallucinations. Idiot. I should've predicted… should've, made…"
"You've got hypothermia?"
"Hypothermia, hypoxia, exhaustion… We should've taken some altitude sickness tablets when we stole the rest of this gear."
"Huh. It sure was… interesting, for me. A cop, breaking into a—"
"A cop is only a cop so long as there's a system able to enforce and uphold the law. Of everything Zootopia has right now, a legal system isn't one of them."
"What do you think's gonna… happen."
"Don't know. And turn that awful music off."
The wolf just sighed. "Come by the fire, Rose. Should I boil some water?"
"A hot drink would do us good," she winced. "Pass me my backpack. There'll be a kettle through there."
After pushing the smaller of the two bags towards the hare, Wolfard stood and moved to the kitchen. The floor was dusty and there were a few dead insects, but he didn't pause to take in the view. Finding the kettle, he tested the taps. To his un-surprise, they didn't work, so he paced back through the living room and stepped outside, gathering up a few pawfulls of snow, which he pushed into the tin pot.
He glanced around at the view outside, gazing upon the sun as its final tip disappeared behind the now-black mountains. The world he looked upon now was lifeless and black. He shivered, the image entering his mind of where they'd be now if they hadn't found the cabin when they had.
He shut the door and flung the metal bar across, blocking out the ice, the wind, the snow. He found Flo had mostly emptied her backpack, simply throwing the contents upon the floor. On the small table, she had put the four granola bars and packets of dried fruit.
Putting the kettle upon the stove, he took a granola bar and prised open the plastic, first shedding himself of the gloves and lowering the thick hood. He helped Flo out of the thickest of her coats, and helped her gently pull her long ears from being tucked beneath her many layers — the release of which brought a relieved sigh from the hare.
"So what is this place," he asked, beginning to eat, "how do you know about it?" But as he got nothing in return, he asked further, "Flo?" She was gazing into the open stove, the flames flashing flickers of brass and gold upon her white face.
"It's my grandmother's place. Which is to say it's my place given that she's dead. Grew up here with her."
"What happened to her? I'm assuming she's, uh…"
"She had a stroke," Flo answered, putting some of the larger logs onto the burning sticks. "Bedridden, lack of appetite, loss of memory, loss of awareness…" She put a final piece of wood into the potbelly stove, closing the latch.
"You were young?"
"Fourteen."
"You were her sole carer?"
"Yes."
"Then how, like… your education and stuff?"
"Books, Jim. I read a lot of books. They're all in my apartment now, hundreds of them. When she died and I moved down to Zootopia, weh… hnt to the college and told them I'd been home taught. Took the tests, grades, applied to university, that was that."
"So… wait, your grandma lived up a mountain in the middle of nowhere?"
"There is a village just a few miles further north. We can get what supplies we need there tomorrow."
"Crazy," he muttered and checked the kettle. The water wasn't boiling, but it had melted enough to drink. He took two cups from his bag and poured the warm-ish water into them, handing one to Flo. "Who'd wanna live up here?"
"It's popular with the fishing industry," she said, drinking.
"But… there's fishing in Zootopia?"
"The rivers around here are all from Lake Boltok. It's fresh water, not salt water like the river from the Avalon Ocean around Zootopia. There's hardly a fraction of the trout down there than there is up here. It tastes better too, the fish are… let's… let's just eat a little and sleep."
Finishing their small meal, drinking their tepid water, the two mammals stripped themselves of another layer or two of clothing. They stoked up the potbelly fire, found some sheets and bedding upon which to sleep, pulled them over to the stove and lay close in one another's warmth.
Wolfard tried to speak a few last words of congratulations or reassurance to the hare… but soon realized she was already asleep. He lay back upon the wood, his arms and legs beginning to tingle with warmth once again, and his exhausted mind and body passed into sleep.
Sleeping deeply, sleeping like dead, upon the mountain, beneath the black clouds... among the Keslova snow.
Author's notes:
Hesitance jumps around your mind,
Grooms decision thus chosen blind.
Your thoughts most succulent of snack,
All delivered by luscious feedback.
So don't hide like a tiny shrew,
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