Sometimes, strange creatures are encountered at the crossroads of our lives…
Fox appears at dawn, pointing at potential danger on the snow-trembling lip of my cave’s wide mouth. Fresh fall of flakes whirl in forlorn whispers outside.
Huddled in my cocoon of warm pelts, I gaze in wonder at my unexpected visitor – and then laugh aloud: His coat, though winter-thin and showing the starkness of ribs, is the exact shade of my hair before The Enchantress wove me into her vengeful tapestry of dull white strands, hooped spine and endless bone pain.
The creature, though alert and watchful, does not, as I half-expected him to, turn bushy tail and flee upon sighting me – and this melts a tiny icicle in my heart. For I have become accustomed, over the past few years, to the sight of people running from me as fast as their legs could go.
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