Glacier Sheeta
-------------------------A group of young cybills skidded over the smoothed ice with shrieks of delight, batting a worn leather ball back and forth with casual flicks of their flippers. They paid no notice to the sheeta munching frost berry bunches on a bench beside the frozen lake until the ball took an unexpected turn, landing at his feet.
"Noisy little ice-crunchers. Smashing mother nature's finest formations without a thought of the destruction." Snowflake sighed. "It's no wonder the tundra is shrinking, Pura."
Purarara nodded in silent agreement, holding up a berry to let Snowflake have a taste. Both had good reason to be wary of children.
Snowbelle cooed her pride over the batch of snow-white eggs that vibrated slightly as the hatching hour drew even closer. She pitied her budgy and mally cousins with their dull plumage. In her humble opinion, no bird could hope to rival the silky white feathers of a smilla, and she was a particularly fine example of the breed.
She was there as each chick wobbled free from the shell, singing to teach them the sound of her voice and gently cleaning away the bits of shell that clung to their downy feathers. Each of the five snowy chicks cheeped in return, their cries strengthening as she began to drop bits of juicy worm into their impatient beaks.
She completely ignored the sixth chick which cried feebly for her attention from the rear corner of the nest. When his siblings scrambled for the tastiest bits, they trod on him with indifference. His feathers were bedraggled and gray and he was half their size.
Snowbelle was a first-time mother. She had no way of knowing that some chicks needed time to grow into their feathers. She did not take away those segments that fell to the ugly chick but neither did she offer him assistance. When it came time to name her brood, she simply called him Runt.
Her mate returned as the short daylight hours once again surrendered to night. He strutted around the rim of the nest, voicing his pleasure at five fine children. When he came to Runt, his song ended abruptly.
"What is that?"
Snowbelle shrugged indifferently. Perhaps she had some maternal instinct after all, for she had not the heart to reject any chick from the nest. Her mate had no such reservations. Runt tried to return what he thought was affection, only to find himself falling. His terrified cry was drowned out by the wind.
Then he flew.
It took him a moment to realize he was not truly flying, but instead being carried. He had landed on the back of a furred creature that seemed oblivious to his presence. His tiny claws clung instinctively to thick fur and he huddled down to share the warmth this strange creature offered. He was nearly thrown free as the stranger head-butted a stunted tree with mighty force.
"Who's the weakling now, Panaya?" Though his words were angry, his bitterness could not hide the fact that he was crying. He continued to attack the tree until he was exhausted, slumping to the ground. It was then that he felt the gentle tug on his back. Tundra fleas were a constant annoyance, one he had learnt to accept when his father chased him out of the family cave for being a weakling. There would be no social grooming or ritual mating dances for Purarara the outcast.
He snorted a plume of icy breath at the scraggly bird on his back, not really trying to dislodge him. It felt so good to be free of the pests. As for Runt, he had never enjoyed a feast like this. When he could eat no more, he looked up to meet the gaze of icy blue eyes.
"Where did you come from?"
Runt hung his head. "My father pushed me from the nest. It is the law of the birds, not to keep a runt like me."
Purarara had known only anger and fear at the hooves of his family. His mother had ceased to care for him when Panaya declared him too small to withstand the blows life would serve. His brothers and sisters had pushed him around, never allowing him to taste the sweet clovers that he could not hope to reach. He had known misery in many forms, but never had he witnessed the sadness of another.
He nuzzled the little bird. "You may be small, but to me you're no runt. To me you're Snowflake. We can look out for each other and we don't need anybody else."
Snowflake chirped his gratitude, though he secretly wondered how he could ever be much use to this majestic creature. For many weeks he kept his doubts to himself. Then the blizzard struck.
They huddled together in an abandoned cave that had once been home to a family of chais. Snowflake was forced to make a blanket from Purarara's fur, for the wind would have shredded his new flight feathers. They emerged on the day the winds died down, blinking in the watery sunlight. Purarara strode confidently in the direction of the light.
It took them two days to realize they were lost. Twice they passed the tree that looked vaguely like a question mark, and by this time Purarara was very hungry. Those pockets of tundra berries he had once relied on were mostly buried now, and even the flavorless lichen that grew in secluded stone pockets were well picked over by the smaller rodents that lived in burrows underground. He scraped away the snow, forming a nest on which to bed.
"It's up to you now, Snowflake. Your wings are strong and you were made for this."
Snowflake had flown before, keeping an eye out for hungry tigreans, but never had they been apart for more than an hour. He ruffled feathers that were now a beautiful snowy white. "It could take days to find the nearest village. How do I know you won't go walking off the edge of a cliff?"
"Unless the ground cracks and swallows me up, I'm not going anywhere."
Snowflake took to the air, hovering for a moment. Purarara's head lay on his shoulder, his eyes following his dearest friend's every move. He'd heard tales of a settlement called Arctic Frost where kind snow faeries could be found. Out here in the wilds, many claimed this magical place to be only a legend from a child's tale. But Snowflake would not rest until he'd proved this tale real or died trying.
Purarara focused on placing one hoof in front of the other as Snowflake cried encouragement from above. Though his hind leg pained him, he raised no complaint as the end of his journey was now in view.
Snowflake had returned after two days, swooping around his friend's head in figure-eights as he chattered excitedly about the twinkling lights that never extinguished and the beautiful frozen lake that was clear as a newly formed icicle. He had never seen anything so entrancing. For just a moment, Snowflake's high spirits lifted the bitter cloud from Purarara's shoulders and he uttered a small laugh that echoed back from the pristine face of a distant glacier.
Caution must never be abandoned in a land where the very air can kill. The yetin is a beast often mistaken for its better-known yeti cousins, but these creatures of the north have a much shorter temper. Purarara barely had time to gasp as a white blur exploded from the mouth of a hidden cave, snarling viciously and sinking yellow fangs into his left hind leg.
Yetin are strong but lacking in wit. It took the great beast a moment to realize the needles in his eyes came from above. It released its grip on Purarara with a bellow, swatting at the air. Snowflake was everywhere, darting into the corner of its vision, only to reappear on the other side to give a sharp peck on its sensitive nose. The yetin reared, its head whipping from side to side, its first opponent already forgotten. Its breath left its lungs in a whoosh as Purarara rammed his curved horns in the belly of the beast. It would be some hours before that yetin had the energy to crawl meekly back to the cave from which he had come.
It was three years ago on this day that one footsore sheeta with a small white passenger had abandoned the place of his birth to make his home among the happy settlers of Arctic Frost. Though they keep to themelves, it is well known that if you show kindness to one, the other will surely grant you a place at their fire.
-------------------------Snowflake divider by Mirz123@dA
Pet and minion art by
QuirinaStory by
PureflowerDesign / Coding by me
