The crisp, winter wind blew around the young boy, nipping at his pale skin. He desperately tried to cry out, to make some sort of noise, to no avail. He hated being mute. Of course, he doubted anyone enjoyed it. He knocked on trees, clapped his hands, desperately trying to find his father. Heck, he'd even accept his brother or uncle coming for him. But still, he saw no-one. No-one came.
Soon, his small legs gave way, and he fell into the soft, white blanket of snow. His body shivered and shook, his tears freezing to his face like crystals. He knew it was hopeless now. His pure while hair blended with the falling white snow, making a blanket around him, his skin so pale that if it were any lighter, he would be transparent. The white flakes kept falling, down and down in a spiral. He could feel the frosty cracks on his face, knowing this was the end.
All his hope had been lost, until he heard footsteps. Loud, pounding footsteps. He felt something shake him. One, twice, to no prevail. He just couldnt get up. He felt numb. Soon, strong, gentle arms scooped him up in a whirl, whispering about how cold he was. His consciousness fell into darkness, with the small spark of hope that he would wake up again some day.
(Here's your monthly offering.)
