It started with the ice sheets. Down the river they were swept until smaller fragments pooled around the reeds. A decidedly chilly new development, Doom followed upstream.With each step, she entered on to more brittle, dried out land. If there ever was a line of demarcation, the cool gust of air obscured it. The change was gradual as it was sudden. The colors changed, muted and the green bits all but shriveled away. Doom was not built for the cold, her short bob offering meager warmth. But as this was a new adventure, such hardships were to be endured. Her experiences with the brutal cold were limited to the rare nights she woke up to a thin layer of frost during the shortest days.
Forms slinked and scuttled away as she advanced. Falling ice peppered her hair and back. Aimless in her wandering she sought to know her new playground. It was empty of sustenance or in some cases, buried and hidden. She looked back, her hooves neatly preserved in pairs except for the smaller four unaccounted for. It did explain the unsettling ill at ease feeling she had. Creeper was her middle name. No one did it better than her little family. She continued her journey; size was on her side.
Screeches above the skyline announced the arrival of large birds of prey, the sun glinting off their sharp claws. It darted down to the river, seeking purchase on a fish. Doom made her way back to the river, standing far on its banks. It was too cold here, but she saw that the ice was getting thicker and covering more area. Somewhere up top, the wind pushed hard and Doom found herself holding up the weight of new snow on her form. It was disorienting as it was insulting. She looked back, four neat indentations joined hers. Up and up the river she continued. A game of patience in the backdrop.
The falling sun made the decision for her. Doom had to find shelter. All around her she could only see white with black tree skeletons poking out. She shuddered. What she wouldn't give for an animal pelt right now. Between two fallen trees she found a small, but dry makeshift cave to sleep throughout the night. Lying down she watched the world be buried.
She heard the first crack of the tree celing above her giving. Small bits of wood chips joined her hair. Then the soft pitter patter of paws pacing back and forth before springing off. There. Four soft red paws filled her line of vision. Patient and calculating, she waited. A gaunt form stared back. Rib bones stuck out, but all in all, a very clean cheetah. Tired but bright eyes watched from up top. It took to the other end of the small cave. Doom closed her eyes and went back to sleep. She woke to the frail frame nestled along her backside, grateful of the extra warmth.
