The sound of life in this land of death

White wisps escaped my mouth. I pushed the butt of my rifle against my shoulder and steadied the barrel on the snowy berm. The white buck was hard to spot in the valley of snow. Its small black eyes were the only thing that gave it away. It stomped on the snow with its front legs and shoveled with its long mouth. It was hard to come by plants in this eternal winter. There were still quite a few trees but plants, shrubs, and the like were almost impossible to find. I aimed at the base of its neck and pulled the trigger. A loud bang echoed in the valley.

The loud crunch of snow greeted every step I took. The buck's legs dangled on either side of me as I carried it on my shoulder. I paused for a moment as I heard the numerous howls of wolves carried by the wind. They weren’t that far, five miles, maybe less. I put the buck down and cleaned the blood off of it. Then I packed the bullet wound with snow. It would be difficult for the wolves to smell a fresh kill this way.

I was now walking through the woods up a hill. My breathing was ragged and despite the cold, sweat had drenched my back. I heard the wolves again, but it was a little further this time. I continued to walk until I heard a baby’s cry. The sound of life in this land of death.