Big Salmon Lake s y m p h o n y

s h e  o u g h t  n o t  t o  h a v e  s u r v i v e d. 
the winter had been hard to the foundling, but there was only so much her already spindly form could be reduced. her ribs lay bare to the cold, which made her bones its home and nestled there so that she may not sleep. a curved line of festering red marred one feather-light cheek, a week old, a reminder that her submission did not always save her. it had been a yearling, cruel and brimming with unearned courage, and she had been a soft target. better to take this than to subject herself to the possibility of more hurt. 

she moved like a phantom parallel to the lakeshore, liable to be reshaped, scattered, by the wind in any instance. the cold had grown to be a friend, and it huddled close as the wind off the water raked its claws through her fur. if she were to die, she mused, there would be nothing to tether her to the earth and the wind would bear her back to the heavens, where certainly she'd be set adrift amongst the clouds and never settle again. 

i t  w a s  n o t  g o o d  t o  t h i n k  o f  t h e s e  t h i n g s.