Alive and Free

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Xoana breathed in the cold, arctic air as the wind rushed through her hair. She scurried across the snow, constantly battered by the blizzard winds. Her mother, only a metre in front of her, was out of sight. All she could see was a thick wall of white mist, but Xoana knew she was there. They had been walking all night. Her legs ached and her eyes began to droop but she knew she must carry on. Food and shelter were miles from here and if they wanted breakfast, they'd have to survive the strenuous scamper across the soft, snowy plains. Her mother saw that she could not carry on. She gently embeded her teeth into Xoana's thick, furry coat and carried her the rest of the way.

That was long ago, but the memories were still fresh in Xoana's mind. Her mother, a beautiful arctic fox with a gentle soul, was long gone now. It wasn't the bitter cold, the hunters or the predators that got her, it was the sickness. One day she became so weak, so frail that she couldn't move from the den. Xoana, in all her efforts, was powerless to cure the sickness that had taken over her mother. Her eyes were forever closed, never to open again.

It was summer, warm crisp summer, well, compared to winter. Xoana lay in her den, sound asleep, the warmth of the sun streaming in and warming her thick cloak of fur. Her eyes fluttered open. She scampered out of her den, cautious of any hunters nearby. She had once heard of a careless red fox who was shot straight down for not being aware of his surroundings. Xoana never knew him but her best mate Stalker did, and, as always, he was right on top of Xoana's den in a pouncing position. It was too late for her as he pounced on her, sending them both rolling down the green, grassy hill. They bit into each other's fur and swung each other back and forth in a playful fight when they heard a rustling in the bushes as if to warn them of what dangers could be lurking nearby. The two arctic foxes stood straight up with their ears pricked, scanning the surroundings like satellite dishes. Xoana dropped her nose to the ground in search for breakfast. Stalker came bounding behind her, playfully, as though his name meant nothing to him no longer. Everything was just fun and games to him after all. Xoana paused for a moment, holding her breath, ears pricked. A shot rang out. She turned her nose in the direction it was coming from. Stalker was still jumping around crazily until another shot rang out. He lay still, motionless, blood drenching his once pure-white fur. Xoana whined and bolted into the distance, fearing for her life. Stalker was all she knew since her mother had died; now she was alone but alive, alive and free.

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