Hope

The cold winter winds buffeted the arctic fox’s face, pushing it back and forcing it away. The mother worriedly whined as the young fox tried to go back the way it came. The winds whisked him away carrying the limp, white body away like a sodden leaf against the wind.

Hope seemed far away, a tiny spark against a tidal wave. The arctic fox wailed and whined, scared and alone. A snowy owl swished around him, the sharp talons glinting in the faint light. It saw easy prey, and the fox knew quite well he was doomed. All alone, with no person in sight.

The snow swirled around, howling, prowling, rising high. The owl swooped down, screeching and cackling with laughter. The fox flattened himself down, blending in with the snow. Instead of reaching the fox, the owl flew straight into the hungry mouth of a polar bear.

The fox was triumphant! The tiny spark flew into a blazing flame of flaring hope. He scurried off, the fierce winds no more than a light breeze. He scrambled over a hill of snow, crashing down into a white, wintery pile. The fox streaked away, not caring one bit about what happened, as long as he got back to his mother and siblings. He leapt a hill of white, fluffy, cold snow, tirelessly running, knowing what lay ahead.

His gaze was set directly northwest, where he might find his mother and siblings. He scurried off and traveled long and far, over snow and mountains, to find his mother. He reached the small cave and found himself in a cave, his mother and siblings squealing with delight.

The little foxes scrambled all over him, licking and jumping and rubbing their muzzles across his snow-white fur. He felt the most immense joy and satisfaction, happy and content.