Transmutational Transcontinental

“Think Outside the Box.” That was the slogan engraved on the cover of my perscomp, and it was absolutely one I lived by.  A transmutational racer must at heart be an optimist, and that went double for me. Before every event I always spent hours poring over the rules, seeking out loopholes, errors, and inspiration. Such large purses were well worth a little skull-sweat. But this year's Classic regulations appeared entirely bulletproof. It looked to be a straight run for the money. I scowled in frustration and scratched an itchy ear with a hindpaw. Damnit! I’d won quite a few easy victories in the past by outthinking race committees, but they were learning. This year it looked like I’d have to do things the hard way, if I wanted to remain champion. 

But I hated the hard way. It was far too much work! 

The year's biggest event was a toughie—New York to San Francisco by paw, hoof, or whatever, racer's choice. We racers were allowed to set our own courses, choose our own forms, and take our own chances. All the transcontinentals worked like that. Humans have always raced on land by every means available. Cars, carriages, pogo sticks… If you can make miles with it, it’s been raced. Most likely with great intensity and enthusiasm. And when transmutation technology became widespread and cheap, new forms of racing quite naturally followed along immediately after. At first it was human horses, but soon it became cheetahs, pigeons, hawks, frogs, whales, baboons... 

And since the sport was a natural for tridee, the competitions quickly became intense and frequent, with serious money and endorsement contracts on the line almost weekly. A big name transcontinental racer like me, well, I rarely had time to become human between events anymore. Even as I prepared for the second annual North American Classic, I was still wearing the jackrabbit’s body that’d carried me to a very respectable second-place finish in the Outback Dash. The winner made the obvious choice of camel form, as did the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth-place finishers. My schtick was to put on more of a show via not choosing the obvious. Second place was plenty good enough to keep me well up in the point standings for the year. Besides, the sponsors paid a lot better for something different. Especially, they paid well for a form that just might not live through the event. At the finish line of the Outback, I actually drew far more media attention than the winner. 

Carefully, I used the pencil in my mouth to press the "page back" key on my perscomp and began once more at the beginning. Most of the rules were pretty straightforward. The race was to run from the foot of the Empire State Building to the Golden Gate Bridge. Except for defined paths through the cities at both ends of the course, travel by road or rail right-of-way was forbidden. We competitors were required to live off the land entirely, and weren’t allowed any contact with humans except for permitting media filming en-route. Sign-reading was permitted- one could hardly avoid it, after all. And water and shelter were where you found them. But otherwise, racers were forbidden from utilizing any human-built infrastructure. It was to be us versus time, distance and nature, pretty much the standard package these days. Not even speech was permitted. 

This particular competition was at least relatively open in regard to permissible forms. I could compete as any mammal, reptile, or flightless bird extant in the year 1900. I smiled at this last requirement, or would’ve were a jackrabbit’s face designed that way. Last year I’d taken advantage of the "any reptile" loophole to become a pterodon with a forty-foot wingspan and win the first annual event in an easy glide. But it wasn't going to be so easy this time around. Try as I might, I couldn’t a way to cheat the system. Sighing quietly—hares invariably sigh in near silence, if they wish to avoid becoming something’s dinner—I turned off the perscomp and laid down on the carpet. Trying to read the screen through jackrabbit eyes was giving me a headache, and I wasn't learning anything new. 

In my kind of racing the selected form is everything, by my lights at least. Making the right choice is the key to both winning and to making barrelfuls of money. Everything else is secondary, driven by this most important of all decisions. A competitor has to be able to easily find food, escape predation, and travel quickly through the various terrains and biomes. But this event was unique in that there were so many biomes! First there came the East Coast suburbs, then the cornfields of the Midwest, the plains, the Rockies, and lastly the endless desert beyond. It was awesome to contemplate. A competitor could (and sometimes did) end up starving, being eaten, falling off a cliff, drowning, getting shot, or even ending up as road kill. And weighing these risks was just the first step—after that, it was time to think about winning! 

Personally, I always worried most about the river crossings. The problem was that there were far too many big ones. The only way around the difficulty was to select a far-north routing and do an end-around of the whole Mississippi Valley. Personally, I figured that most of my competitors would end up doing exactly that. Just like it was also a pretty safe bet that almost everyone else would choose some long-legged deer or equine or perhaps even antelope form to compete in. That way, finding food would be relatively simple and long-distance running would come naturally. Which in turn meant that these obvious options were closed to me. I had a reputation for originality to maintain, after all! 

A cougar, perhaps? No, predators never worked out. Hunting took too long. 

I sat back and gnawed at my pencil some more. Hmm.... 

A buffalo? I’d have no predation worries, and the advantage of being in natural habitat practically all the way. And a good ol' American Bison could make pretty decent time too. I'd have to avoid the river crossings like everyone else, though... 

Then I scowled. It just wasn’t original enough. Let the also-rans take that route. True victory—profitable victory!—would lie in figuring out a way to both take the most direct route and be different while doing it. 

What about that Chinese water buffalo I'd once read about—the one that was bred long ago to pull small barges in canals by swimming in front of them? The species could handle the river crossings sure enough, but would be slow, slow, slow over land... 

It was really too bad about those rivers. If it weren't for them I'd have been half tempted to remain a jackrabbit. I was well adapted to being a hare, particularly in psychological terms. It’d also save me time in the tank, freeing me up to do more extensive route research than any of the other competitors. The ones I was really worried about were all still camels at the moment and would certainly have to spend weeks changing forms in order to meet the demands of North America. Jackrabbits were surprisingly capable of covering ground in a hurry, and easy to feed as well. Even in the heart of the Australian desert I'd eaten at least sometimes. What with the race being held in warm weather, my form could survive easily anywhere on the continent. 

Except in the rivers, of course. I shivered at the very thought of facing all that water as a hare. There were limits to the risk-level that even someone as crazy as me could accept, and swimming the Mississippi as a bunny rabbit was well off the chart. We competitors all had built-in panic buttons and tracers, of course. Still, one could drown awfully fast… 

I sighed again, and put the idea aside. Permanently.

Then I had another thought. Perhaps I had my priorities backwards? Raccoons could swim. And they were native almost everywhere too. I just might manage the Big Muddy as a 'coon. But could I cover the rest of the distance quickly enough? I had a deadline to beat, one set by galloping horses and swift deer... 

No. I’d still be far too slow, even with the others traveling further. Damnit! 

Well, then! Perhaps I could use all that water to my advantage? What if I took some sort of otter form? Then I’d swim most of the way; the Ohio, Mississippi and Missouri would become highways instead of barriers. And that wasn't even considering the minor streams that might allow me to work closer still to my goal. After all, the western slope of the Rockies was pretty wet—probably the only long stretch I’d have to walk would be over the Divide itself, plus a few other little portages here and there. I could fish as I traveled, live predator free, and let the current help me along a good part of the way... 

…while also having the same current work against me for even more miles, I realized suddenly. Plus, I’d also have to travel all the curves of the rivers instead of taking a straight shot. 

Hell and damnation!! This was tough!

Thinking back, I remembered last year's contest. Before I ever left the starting line, I’d picked out a series of cliffs and river bluffs to overnight on. In the mornings, I’d simply let the warming morning air lift me effortlessly to altitude. Then all I had to do was glide west to my next roost, expending little to no effort along the way. My reptilian metabolism was extremely efficient, though I was forced to hunt a bit from time to time. A couple deer, along with some carrion here and there, was enough to see me through. And carrion tasted just fine while I was a pterodon. The rivers had been nothing, no trouble at all... 

Which was precisely why the officials had ensured there’d be no flying forms this time around. They didn’t like it when people thought outside of their little boxes. 

Then I blinked, and a little light bulb lit up just above my long ears. 

I switched my comp back on and carefully looked over the rules again. No species extinct before 1900. Avian forms were allowable, but must be flightless. Reptiles were also legal. And all mammals... 

I stood up on all fours and kicked my hind legs in sheer joy, then frolicked to and fro about my apartment as I poured out my feelings in the only way my voiceless state would allow. I had them, I had them, I had them! I was going to win again, and nothing could stop me! They’d left another loophole! 

After kicking the air one last time for the sheer joy of it, I headed back to the study. I had it, damnit! Had it for sure! Though my panting rendered my pencil-work a bit unsteady, I pecked away at my perscomp and settled in to do some serious research. This was going to be so much fun! 

What kind of bat I was going to be? I couldn’t wait to find out!

The Rules

"Fine!" Mikkel the Rottweiler sighed at his two fox friends. "We'll play Hide'n'Seek. But here's the rules! No leaving the junkyard, no going into my house, and no climbing into any of the machinery! Some of it's dangerous. Now, I'll count to fifty, then sniff you out!

Nolfi and Ardas wagged their tails and darted off through the mounds of scrap as Mikkel began to count.

***

"Here, Nolfi!" Ardas gestured his older brother to a shadowed alcove within a stack of drum barrels.

Nolfi shook his head. "Too obvious." He scanned the many similar piles of junk until his eyes happened upon an old derelict coated in rust and neglect. "There!"

The two kits raced over, the scent of oil, grease, and other fouler things surrounding them. They came up short before the house sized machine. "But that's 'gainst the rules!" Ardas objected, taking a step back.

"An' it stinks!" Nolfi replied with a barking laugh. "Perfect!" He pointed to a hatch at the rear of a long enclosed section. "Go in there, I'll climb into the front."

"I dunno..."

"Hurry!" Nolfi pushed him toward the hatch. "Mikkel's almost done!"

Ardas climbed through the hatch and pulled it closed behind him. A little click sounded, but Nolfi paid it no mind as he climbed into the control seat at the front. Levers and knobs protruded from a panel recently scrapped free of rust. Nolfi curled into a ball on the floor, and waited, ears perked.

***

"Fifty! Ready or not, here I come!" Mikkel shouted and started sniffing. He'd only started fixing stuff up in the junkyard when his Dad went off to the war a few years back, just like Nolfi and Ardas's Dad. But he'd long grown used to the usual scents and had no trouble picking out the two foxes. He bent down, overalls and nose brushing the ground and followed their trail, walking on all fours.

***

Nolfi perked his ears, listening to the distant sound of Mikkel snuffling around the ground. He grinned and put both paws over his muzzle to keep from laughing. It had taken them a week to wear down the rottweiler, but they knew he'd eventually give in. He always did.

Their father probably wouldn't like them playing with a Junker, but he was the only pup their age. The rest were old enough to work the fields or still supping teats. Besides, there were so many cool things to play with in the junkyard!

Nolfi waited. What was taking the rottweiler so long? This was boring! Nolfi glanced at the array of controls over his head. Oooooo! He looked around seeing no sign of Mikkel. Yes! With the grin of a child knowing he shouldn't, Nolfi starting shifting levers and pulling knobs. To his great surprise, the machine lurched beneath him, and a heavy grinding noise started behind him. Yes!

***

Ardas didn't like the inside of the derelict. The hatch led into a long sealed compartment with slits at the top that let in light, and a larger hatch on the top that was also closed. Grillwork blocked the opening behind him, while the far end was filled with an intricate series of drillheads, nasty, coated by rust, but still looking sharp and menacing. He shivered as he gazed at them, wishing that it'd been Nolfi who'd climbed in here instead. He hoped Mikkel found them soon so he could get out.

A loud clunk shook the chamber, and the drills began to spin, rust grinding away as the machine sprang to life. Ardas gasped, tail and fur stiff, before dashing to the hatch. He pushed, twisted and banged on the handle, but it held fast. Everything was coated with rust and stuck!

Screaming, the little fox kit fell back against the grill work, too terrified to move, warmth filling his trousers. The drill bits ground closer...

***

Mikkel was sniffing around a set of iron barrels when he heard the sound of the old junk grinder come to life. He'd been working on repairing it for the last few months—once it was fully working it would save him a lot of time and help get the junkyard looking the way it had when his Dad and his Uncles were running the place. How could it have—No!

Leaping to his hind paws, the rottweiler bolted through the junk dunes. He saw Nolfi frantically pawing at the controls, but there was no sign of Ardas. Mikkel glowered, leapt up next to the fox and stared at the levers. They were all askew.

"Sorry, sorry!" Nolfi stammered, eyes wide and tearing.

"Where's Ardas?"

"He's—he's—in there!" Nolfi pointed to the innocuous closed hatch of the grinder.

"No!" Mikkel's heart tightened as he tried to remember how the levers were supposed to be positioned. It took a few seconds, but once he knew, he put them back in order, and pushed all the knobs in. The powerful drill chugged one last time, and the floor leapt an inch, knocking Nolfi on his tail, and the machine ground to silence.

Mikkel took a quick breath, jumped to the ground, and ran around to the hatch. He hadn't gotten around to fixing the faulty door yet. Taking out his wrench, he beat on the handle a dozen times before, with a metallic screech, it popped open. The hinges protested with a squeal as he yanked the hatch back.

Standing with his back pressed to the grill, golden eyes wide, tears streaking his white-furred cheeks, and a pungent stain coating the front of his pants, was Ardas. The drill-head hunched two arm lengths from his face.

Mikkel helped Ardas climb out and then set him shivering on the ground. Nolfi fell at his side and apologized as he cried. The rottweiler shuddered and hugged them both.

"I told you not to hide in the machinery!" Mikkel barked, angry yet relieved.

The two kits yipped, holding each other and Mikkel. "I'm so sorry!" Nolfi cried. "I'll never break the rules again!"

"Me either!"

Mikkel sighed and hugged them again. "That's why there's rules!"

Neither fox would ever break them again.

Secret Valentine

Another valentines day alone, I thought to myself as I exited the subway. Just another anonymous face in the sea of animals. Swiveling my ears I could hear clips of conversations as I left the station. Lovers rushing home to be with one another, females excited about that date they have been thinking of all week. Surrounded by people... I've never felt so alone. 

Time for a pick me up. I wandered into the bookstore on the way home. Books always made me feel better; an escape to a fictional land was just what I needed.  The store was cool and dim.  Probably to protect the books, but it gave the store a slightly magic feel. This was no chain store. The isles were close together with books piled high in random places. It always reminds me of a labyrinth, so much so that I like to pretend Mr. Red the owner is the minotaur instead of just a big jersey bull.  

He looked up from his newspaper and nodded a greeting, which I quickly returned as I walked down an isle. Idly searching the stacks I caught a scent that stopped me dead in my tracks. No… it couldn’t be. Not here, not today. But there it was again. That smell that can only be described as the woods after the rain. I quietly begin my search. Now I was Theseus wandering through the maze. 

I found him in the back corner. He was fingering a copy of the Hitchhikers Guide. His back was to me and I could see his muscles through his shirt. This was Liam. He was the wolf that lives in the apartment across from mine. I have seen him around and was delighted and terrified that one day I might actually have the courage to talk to him. He was dressed in a plain black shirt and jeans. I watched from afar as always. He began to turn so I jumped behind a stack, careful to stay upwind. He looked at the sudden movement but said nothing. Just smiled that little crooked smile that always makes my knees weak and walked to the counter to pay. 

Watching out of the corner of my eye I pretended to be very interested in a book on landscaping. Liam opened the door to leave and paused, allowing the wind from the street to push his scent at me full force. All I could smell was him. He continued to pause at the door, smiled again, and left. My tail twitched with excitement. I know I shouldn’t, I can't. I quickly discarded the book. Any thoughts of purchasing had fled my mind. With his scent still all around me I lowered my head, ears forward, eyes dilated... I followed.

Dusk had come while we were in the bookstore and with it new electricity. I was surrounded by the smell of the city. A rich bouquet of coffee and urine and underneath it all was the constant scent of him. Filling my senses and driving me forward. 

"I'm just walking home." I lied to myself. But I knew that if he turned I would follow. I caught glimpses of him in the dusk light as he read a sign and stopped to re-tie his shoe. When I reached our building I froze. He had already gone inside and I could still smell his scent where he has touched the door. 

"Just go to your apartment and have a nice cold shower." I said to myself as I entered. I began to calm down as I climbed the stairs. Liam would have gotten to his door long before I reached the top. Turning onto my floor I quickly backpedaled onto the staircase. Almost falling in the process. Liam was standing in his doorway. Just waiting as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

"Are you coming in, Stevie?" Liam asked still standing in the doorway. I was startled. How did he know I was there? How long had he known? He left the door ajar and went inside. An open invitation. 

I should go home. I thought to myself. I cautiously stepped inside. It was like looking into a hall of mirrors. Reflections of me everywhere caught on canvas. I walked further inside to have a closer look at the paintings. Me reading in the park, me laughing when I ungracefully upended my ice-cream all over my shirt. I heard the door shut somewhere behind me but it barely registered. I was too absorbed in the paintings as the dusk light played on the canvases. He was standing behind me. Head bent so I could feel his breath tickle my neck. 

"You took long enough." he whispered "I thought I would have to wait in the bookstore all day." I could hear the smile in his voice.

"How did you know I'd be there?" I asked as I leaned into him.

"You always buy a book when you’re feeling down..." He put a rose in my hand. "...and I thought today you might be a bit down."

"...and you knew I was following you?" I whispered as he put his arms around me, his breath heavy in my ear.

"I let you chase me until I caught you."

"I guess I wasn’t the only one watching." He turned me to face him, arms still around me. Looking into his eyes I knew I would not be waking up alone on February fifteenth.

Winter's Magic

It is that time of year again. I can smell the falling temperature in the air and the forest is carpeted in a rustling, multi-coloured blanket of leaves. Winter is almost here. I wrap my paws around myself, as if this feeble gesture will somehow protect me against the ache in my heart. Winter is by far my favourite of the seasons, and yet it brings with it the inevitable longing and the painful memories of the one perfect season I had.

It was a late autumn day, much like today, and I was slowly making my way through the forest. I was going nowhere in particular, just enjoying the wilderness around me and taking deep breaths of the cool air. It was sunny that day, I think, but I was not paying much attention to the sky. There is something so very soothing about wandering aimlessly in the heart of a giant forest, with no obligations or cares clouding my mind. And thus, with my thoughts full of joy, I found her.

I brushed aside thick branches of a towering pine tree and stepped into a meadow, and there she was. No doubt she had heard me coming, for I had made no effort to walk silently, but she was just standing in the middle of the small clearing. I swear she was smiling and I knew instantly that she had been patiently waiting for me for some time. I had frozen as soon as I spotted her, for I did not wish to frighten her. Normally horses are very suspicious of wolves, but then she was no ordinary horse. She was Winter.

There are no words adequate to describe how beautiful she appeared to me and how she took my breath away. She seemed very imposing, standing there with the grass around her gradually freezing. She was heavily built, with massive feathered legs and thick grey mane reaching almost to her knees. Her coat seemed to change colour before my eyes, some of it being as pure white as fresh snow, while some had taken on the beautiful blue glow of a sunless winter day. As I slowly approached her, I saw that unlike my breath that was forming small clouds in front of me, her breath was freezing the air around her. My heart beat a little fast as I reached out to touch her and I was surprised to find her flank warm under my paw. She turned her head to look at me, and in her eyes I saw warmth and age old wisdom. I stared deep into her grey eyes and felt as though I had finally found my way home. 

I spent the entire day with her. She seemed to relish being touched and so I gently brushed my paws down her neck, over her flanks and across her back. Her mane felt surprisingly soft under my paws as I carefully pulled stray leaves and small twigs from its tangles. At one point I felt something cold touch my ear and when I looked up, I saw that it had started to snow. Large, soft flakes were falling all around us, hiding the rest of the world behind a curtain of whiteness. I felt no hunger, cold or tiredness while I stayed by her side and it was only when the night fell that I realized how much time had in fact passed. I stroked her neck one last time and then reluctantly took a step back. As I did so, she turned her head and I swear she was smiling again. I moved to walk away from her, but much to my surprise she fell in step with me. When I stopped she did so too and there was an amused spark in her gentle eyes. I shrugged and rested my paw on her neck. Together we walked through the forest in the thickening snow. I wondered how I had never noticed how beautiful the soft glow of new snow on a winter night could be.

I invited her into my den, but she opted to stay outside. That was probably wise, since my den was rather cozy just for me, let alone for the both of us. I offered her some apples and carrots, which she ate with an amused air of someone who does not need food to survive. I also offered her a blanket but she seemed to have no need for such gesture. She appeared completely content with a thick layer of snow gathering on her. She stood in the shadow of an oak tree and even though I knew where she was, I had trouble making out her shape through the increasing snow fall. I gave her one final pat and bade her good night.

When I woke up the following morning, I was sure the events of the day before had been merely a vivid dream. I wolfed down my breakfast and hurried out, expecting to see just the winter’s first snow. But she was waiting for me by the den entrance, clear of snow but as beautiful as ever. The world around us had been transformed into a winter paradise of shockingly bright carpet of fresh snow and all the bare branches were covered in a delicate icing of new frost. My pulse quickened as I looked into her warm eyes and I was finally certain that she was not merely a figment of my lonely imagination. As it was, I could not wait to spend the day with her.

She seemed somehow satisfied now that I was outside with her. She stamped her huge hooves against the ground a few times and then lifted her head high, letting out a commanding neigh. Almost instantly I felt a strong gust of wind around me as the northern wind answered the summons of Winter. She turned away from the gale and rearing high breathed out a cloud of air so cold I could hear the tingle of the tiny snow crystals. The wind took hold of the frost cloud and carried it far beyond my home forest, leaving ice and snow in its wake.

Her task finished, she walked to an old tree stump by my den and tossed her head to indicate that I should climb on her back. I had never been astride a horse before, magical or otherwise, but with her it was easy. Her wide back offered a comfortable seat for me and she had plenty of mane into which I could sink my paws for added support. Her gaits were soft and even and soon I was no longer clutching her mane with my paws. I stopped worrying about the considerable distance from her back to the ground and shifted my eyes to take in the wintry scenes we were slowly passing. When we reached the frosty plains and she speeded to a slow canter, I could no longer hold back a wild whoop of joy. Hearing my howl, Winter moved effortlessly to a gallop and we flew across the plains like a silver arrow. Clouds heavy with snow trailed behind us and hid the forest in flurries of falling flakes.

She took me far away from my den that day and in those following, showing me new lands and bringing the frost and snow with her wherever we went. She regularly summoned the four winds to carry her season beyond our reach and the northern lands slept under a thick cover of snow. We climbed high into the mountains, exploring hidden valleys and marveling the view from the roof of the world. We crossed lakes and rivers and the waters froze over underneath her feathered hooves. We observed from a distance as the last flocks of migratory birds headed south and watched as bears hurried to their dens for hibernation in the falling snow. My grey and white winter coat blended in with hers and we passed through the world unseen.

My love for her knew no bounds. Mind you, it was not romantic love, for I was just an ordinary wolf and she a being of magic. It was more as if I recognized something in her, something that I had been unconsciously looking for my entire life. No words were needed between us, we only spoke with look and touch. How she had come to find me, I do not know. Perhaps my loneliness had resonated across the frozen world and guided Winter to me, or perhaps it was the other way round. On the day I found her on that small clearing, maybe it was I who had responded to her silent calls. I think once a mortal lifetime Winter got so lonely she sought a companion to ease the ache in her heart. I was honoured to have found my soul mate.

She stayed with me the whole winter and it was the best time of my life. While wolves were generally pack animals, I had always been a loner but now my few friends saw even less of me. Winter always faded into the blue shadows when others were around and so I tended to avoid everyone so as to just be with her. I did speak with the elder folk enough to find out that the winter was coldest and snowiest anyone could remember. This was hardly surprising, for this year Winter herself blessed the forest with her presence. Every day she sent frost and snow with the winds to all directions, but there was nevertheless plenty left over for our forest. I had never been happier.

Then came the inevitable day when my winter paradise came to an end. Winter had been nervous for some days, summoning the winds with increasing impatience. But that day, even when her voice was filled with rage and command, the north wind did not come. The wind was blowing from the south and we could both smell warmth and rain in that breeze. Winter’s powers over the winds had faded and they now obeyed a different master. She looked at me with her grey eyes full of sadness and I felt a similar pang of grief within me. We had both known that spring would come eventually, but we had tenaciously refused to dwell on it, preferring to enjoy each day together in full. As she rested her heavy head against my shoulder, I knew that it was time for her to go. She was a creature of snow and frost and could not stay to face the warmer seasons. The seemingly endless sorrow in her eyes also told me that she would not be returning here next winter. Perhaps she was only allowed to seek the comfort of another being once a lifetime. It seemed like such a cruel fate and all I could do was clutch pawfuls of her mane as I hugged her close to me and repeated over and over how much I loved her. Far too soon she stepped away from me and letting out a neigh full of sadness, she left me standing alone amidst a winter scene from a fairytale. I collapsed to the ground and wept inconsolably, as I felt my heart break into millions of pieces.

I doubt anyone has ever greeted spring with as much impotent rage as I did that year. As the snow melted and the world was born anew, I sunk into black depression. I stayed in my den, barely ate or slept, and just grieved for my lost soul mate. It is likely that my depression would have killed me, had I not found that Winter left a little bit of her magic behind. I was fetching water one day, when I found tiny hoof prints near my den. My curiosity piqued, I followed them to a meadow, where I found a daffodil yellow foal chasing butterflies. He looked so joyous that I smiled despite myself. Part of me detested him, for he was the one who had banished my beloved Winter. But that he was able to make me smile, even for a brief moment, told me that my life could and would go on. Although I would always be aware of my loss, my broken heart would not kill me. Part of me wished it would, but a greater part stubbornly believed that even without my Winter, life might have more to offer.

I never saw Winter again, but I did catch glimpses of the others as the seasons passed. Spring remained forever a young foal, frolicking across fresh green meadows on gangly legs. Birds, bees and butterflies seemed utterly enamoured with him and he left spring flowers in his wake wherever his hooves touched the ground. Summer blended perfectly into the rich greens of a summer forest. Instead of mane, she had waves of ivy cascading down her neck and she carried a distinct scent of earth after rain about her. No animal feared her and she would often pause to inspect a fox cub or a newborn fawn. Autumn pranced through the forest with the air of a sudden thunderstorm. His copper coat flashed in the sunlight and he seemed to have endless clouds of brightly-coloured dry leaves whirling around his hooves. Wherever he went, apples turned rosy red and bee hives dripped with honey. They were all magnificent creatures, but their beauty did not touch me as Winter’s had. I never tried to approach any of them and they never showed any sign of acknowledging that I could see them. We followed parallel paths that never crossed.

Now I am an old wolf, with poor eyesight and stiff joints. I never stopped missing Winter, but the months we shared are stored in my memory as fresh as ever and they have left a precious imprint upon my soul. I have led a quiet, content life, although no earthly love could have ever come close to how I felt about my soul mate. Even now I venture out on nights so cold that my breath forms tiny ice crystals on the tips of my fur, when the forest is lit by millions and millions of stars. I wander through the woods, oblivious to the fierce cold, until I reach the end of the forest where the plains begin. I can almost see my younger self and Winter speeding across the frozen land. The mountains are too far for me to reach on my own, but I turn to look upon them anyway. I raise my nose toward the stars and let my howl travel through the frozen air. I howl so that somewhere a horse the colour of snow and shadows moving tirelessly through winter landscape may know that there is someone, somewhere, who loves her forever.