Waiting for the Ice

This story comes with a Dharrsheena warning

I sit and I wait.

White bear is with me. He sits and waits too. He is hungry like me. I keep my distance as he would tear me apart in a heartbeat, crush me in his jaws like the furry meat morsel I am to him. Sometimes, I forget and he moves and I dash away, using what little energy I have left.

I need to remember. I want to survive.

We wait for the great white ice to approach. The water is undulating, roiling and grey. It is cold but it is not cold enough. The platforms have not formed over which we can traverse, to roam, to feed. Where are they? They should be here. I know that white bear thinks the same. He is restless too. The time grows longer. I tire of waiting. The wind ruffles my white coat, my protection from the elements and the predators, that allows me to scurry and scavenge in the starkness of white. I curl up, a cluster of creature, my fur rippling in the arctic swirls.

Conserving.

Because there is nothing here to eat. Nothing.

Please bring the ice. Bring the ice to us.

There are more of me here. I recognise their scent. We all wait. All restless. Something is wrong. White bear knows it too. My fur hides my ribs.

I scent the cold. But still the sea crashes instead of creaking. I seek in the seaweed for living things hidden there. Salty. Small.

There are more like me here. I sniff the air and something is different today. It is not ice encroaching. It is death. It is meat. The air is the purveyor of possible nourishment, tantalising me with the rot it has lifted and carries, the smell of life gone and its vessel's inevitable deterioration. It is a smell that I must chase.

I am starving.

I find it, the white fur in the snow. It is this I can smell. I must be quick. I need to tear until I find the red. And I need to feast before the others come. Because the red exposed will bring more and the fight will begin.

The fight for flesh.

***

366 words

This was written in response to the following challenge from Belle:

This is my second attempt for this challenge and was inspired by a nature documentary which showed the plight of creatures reliant on the polar north which is rapidly getting warmer. Warmer means a thaw; a thaw means no ice. For Arctic animals, this is enormously significant and not to put too fine a point on it, life-threatening. In the documentary, the cute little furball that is the Arctic fox was reduced to cannibalism to survive. Such was my horror at such a thing that I was inspired to write a story about it and it happily coincided with Belle's challenge. Thank you, Belle.

My first attempt was this:

And a previous unrelated attempt was this, which is much more light-hearted:

Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.

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