Cubzero

On a clear morning it wedges itself into a shallow snow-hollow, packs the walls smooth with its rump, and dozes with one ear cocked for its siblings. Hunger sends it snuffling along the melt-line where the pass drips, batting frozen berries loose and chewing them like gravel. It cannot yet make its own cold, so it borrows the mountain's, pressing its belly to the ice until the shivering stops. At dusk it cries for its mother in a voice far too big for it.