Snow Story
Alright, here is the first bit of a story that I think has some potential. After talking with kulit, I had a sudden urge to write a story in a winterscape with characters loosely based on one or more Aboriginal tribes in Canada. So, here goes.
A bundle of sticks was clasped firmly in her mittened hand as she struggled through the thigh-deep snow. It was light, powdery stuff, yet somehow it managed to present an obstacle. The blizzard had come in frightfully fast, catching many in the middle of their preparations. Fires needed stoking and one could always do with more wood just in case the storm lasted longer than predicted. Trappers had to rush to pull their lines before snares and animals were lost under mountains of snow.
It had been a hard year. The snows had come more frequently and with greater ferocity than they had in past years. The elders talked of times like these happening in their youth, but that was a long time ago and most people had forgotten. No one would admit it outright, but everyone was worried. She wondered what they had to fear. This was their home. They knew their land. They had Old Man Forest and the voices of the elders to guide them. What reason had they to be afraid?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Listen to the trees,” one of the wise women had told him, “for they will tell you their secrets - and believe me, their knowledge is great - if only you will listen.” So listen he did. At first, he could hear nothing but the chatter of squirrels and the songs of birds. He was disappointed, but did not give up. As he spent more time in the forest - listening instead of making noise himself - he began to pick up on the language of the trees. To one without the knowledge, they would only hear the creaking of boughs and dropping needles. But he, Pine Whisperer, knew that the creaks were the trees groaning under the weight of the snow and the skittering needles whispered the throes of the dying.
A bundle of sticks was clasped firmly in her mittened hand as she struggled through the thigh-deep snow. It was light, powdery stuff, yet somehow it managed to present an obstacle. The blizzard had come in frightfully fast, catching many in the middle of their preparations. Fires needed stoking and one could always do with more wood just in case the storm lasted longer than predicted. Trappers had to rush to pull their lines before snares and animals were lost under mountains of snow.
It had been a hard year. The snows had come more frequently and with greater ferocity than they had in past years. The elders talked of times like these happening in their youth, but that was a long time ago and most people had forgotten. No one would admit it outright, but everyone was worried. She wondered what they had to fear. This was their home. They knew their land. They had Old Man Forest and the voices of the elders to guide them. What reason had they to be afraid?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Listen to the trees,” one of the wise women had told him, “for they will tell you their secrets - and believe me, their knowledge is great - if only you will listen.” So listen he did. At first, he could hear nothing but the chatter of squirrels and the songs of birds. He was disappointed, but did not give up. As he spent more time in the forest - listening instead of making noise himself - he began to pick up on the language of the trees. To one without the knowledge, they would only hear the creaking of boughs and dropping needles. But he, Pine Whisperer, knew that the creaks were the trees groaning under the weight of the snow and the skittering needles whispered the throes of the dying.