I tramp through the crunchy snow at twilight. Hard, frozen ground under my paws. Roach hates the snow! Too cold. Much too cold. Not easy to walk in. Winter evenings are a long, drawn-out thing, and I’ve emerged too early this evening. So bright! My bug eyes sting relentlessly, wet my face. I shake my head in protest, but only nightfall will ease my discomfort. Roach must learn to wait for darkness. Must learn patience.
In my temporarily blinded state, I try to lie down. More snow! The chill startles me and I jump back up, throwing white dust like a rabbit bursting out of hiding. Unpleasantness everywhere. I can still go back…but trees! Trees will give Roach shade until the sun goes down. I can see them ahead: liquid, blurry figures that reach skyward, grasping for cloud and bird and rain with their bony fingers.
It seems a great distance to travel, and I move so slowly, but finally I am amongst the trees. I press my face to the cool bark to confirm this, in case scent and sight aren’t enough, and close my eyelids to put out the fire. Gradually the pain fades from my eyes, and when I open them again it is nearly night. Ah! Such relief. Roach’s day can begin. I blink a few times, the cold wind freezing the tears into my fur, and then trudge further into the forest – in search of meal, or friend, or Ex.
r o a c h
flaming stealth banana |