Snow

North

There are, of course, millions of various ways you could die in this godforsaken landscape. Exposure. Losing your way. The ice breaking under your feet and a current pulling you away from the air. Yet here you are, a backpack full of equipment, massaging a hand warmer between your fingers as you lay still as a statue upon the packed snow. Your breath comes out in foggy puffs as you wait, eyes desperately searching for any animals that would cross your path.

And there is your first subject. A rabbit with fur that blends into the snow, cautiously hopping out from a burrow in search of food. It stops to sniff the air, eyes brown as the bark of pine. A clump of snow falls from an evergreen branch, dousing the little animal in powdery white. Its whiskers twitch just before it shakes the snow off its fur, and you could feel its frustration from where you lay.

Waiting for it to approach your range is agonizing, an exercise in patience that would have any lesser person roaring in frustration. But it pays off to stay still because soon enough the little rodent makes its way beyond its usual feeding spot. You take careful aim, moving slowly as your stiff body can manage, closing one eye, and taking in a deep breath. Then you press your finger on the trigger and fire.

Click click click click click click, the shutter of your camera goes off, capturing dozens of pictures by the second, immortalizing that little bunny in digital code. As it hops off, you take the time to go over each image to see how they turned out. The lighting's good, the alignment seems alright, and anything a bit off can be tweaked in photoshop. Satisfied with today's catch, you turn around to gather your things for the return to base.

You have a visitor.

A fox is sitting a meter away from you, staring up with tiger orange irises, its blindingly white coat making the snow look dull in comparison. A bit of black fur creates a ring around its eyes, making quite honestly the best-looking eyeliner you have ever seen. Its tail swishes back and forth as it sizes you up, deciding whether or not you would be a threat to its wellbeing, coming to the conclusion that you aren't. Clearly, it's not bothered by the fact you are much bigger.

Without a single thought, you switch lenses, your fingers moving deftly on instinct from years of experience. Every movement is tense, anxiety churning around the sense that the fox might simply bolt away at any wrong sound you might make. You fit the second lens onto the camera and start clicking away, firing the shutter as many times as you can until you are satisfied enough to risk fiddling around with the other settings.

It doesn't move an inch, allowing you to shoot photos from different angles like a well-seasoned model, following you with its large, almost disturbingly intelligent eyes. Only when your body sucks the last bit of heat from the hand warmers do you reluctantly sit down by your equipment case to start the process of packing up. A light breeze stings your face as you shoulder the backpack, the sun sinking a little too close to the horizon for your liking. Two hours of daytime leaves you with a thin window to work, and now that it's over, you have to go. Pulling out a little GPS, you check your coordinates one last time before heading back to the base.

"Thank you, pretty baby," you tell the fox as you prepare to leave.

The fox cocks its head as you start off, and soon enough, you hear the quiet pitter patter of tiny paws trying to keep up with your pace as you walk down the hill to your quad. You load your stuff onto the back of the vehicle, pulling the bungee cord over the bundles of equipment while your new friend paces back and forth to the side. Maybe it's looking for a treat? Even though they're told not to, sometimes skiers try to toss bits of food to the wildlife. That's probably why the little guy is still following you.

"Sorry, puffball. I gotta go." It takes every ounce of self-control in your body not to throw yourself onto the ground and pet the poofy mass of fluff until night comes and the temperature plummets. You start the engine of your quad, pulling out another hand warmer from your pocket while the vehicle takes a moment to sputter. After activating the chemicals and stuffing the little packets into your gloves, you take off.