Roars echoed as I trudged through the lush, green forest. The sun blazed through the canopy, UV rays stinging my eyes. I scratched at the trees as I swirled through the woods, the light blinding and wild. It was hot, buzzing with insects and bursting with the smell of life.
To cool off, I waded into the river and caught fat catfish with my sharp, deadly claws. I tore into them, scales flashing, water splashing. Then I stumbled back toward my cave, tripping over roots and rocks, belly full, fur dripping.
But the warmth didn’t last. It was freezing now. The air turned sharp, biting at my nose and ears. The forest that once buzzed with heat was quiet, covered in frost. Leaves, once green, had turned brittle and brown, crunching under my paws.
My breath came in thick clouds. I moved slower. I needed food and fast. I lumbered from bush to bush, gobbling up the last of the berries, their juices cold against my fur. I plunged into the icy river once more, my claws flashing through the water, catching fish while I still could.
The trees creaked. Wind slipped between the trunks like a whisper. The forest had changed becoming quieter, older, ready to sleep and so was I.
My belly was full. My body was heavy. I crawled into the cave and curled into myself, the cold pressing at the entrance but never reaching me. Outside, the last leaves danced. Inside, I was still. Season to season. I slept.
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