Snow was falling slowly like an afterthought, powdering the pine-strewn floor where the dense canopy thinned. It was more sheltered amongst the trees, better than the open spaces where drifts were already piling high this early in winter. Gunther could walk atop the glazed surface of snow with his wide paws, but sometimes he fell through, and the snow could be as deep as he was tall. Not great for travelling. Travelling where was the question in order. He supposed he’d figure it out.

His stomach was speaking to him, the frozen fish leftovers of a bear’s hunt long forgotten. He’s seen his parents hunt a few times, and the task proved a lot less easier than he expected. His golden eyes were now drawn to the forest’s boughs, where squirrels skittered about. He’d never eaten squirrel. He’d always liked to talk to them but now he was in the awkward position of wanting to eat them. They remained out of reach for the time being, so the youngling only cocked his head at their movements. Hello there. You store enough nuts for the season? The creatures twitched their noses at him curiously, a move Gunther tried to replicate.

At around eight months of age, Gunther was about the size of an average wolf. The young set of his face plus the fact that he hadn’t yet grown into his paws betrayed his age. His thick winter fur rounded out his hungry body, making him look somewhat formidable even before his first year. He didn’t feel like a big wolf. With no siblings to judge himself by he remained an only child, emphasis on ‘child’. He wanted his parents back so much he had to push the yearning to the back of his mind, which he rarely did for anything.

But today was another day, and Gunther was on his way to more to come. He might be hungry now, but soon he might be full. The sun was slipping through the clouds now, the dim warmth melting ice and snow. A branch littered with icicles began to drip, as Gunther raced to catch the droplets with his tongue.