"Don't forget your training."

  A voice echoed from somewhere as the breeze flowed through the snow-covered leaves of the pine trees. The whole forest was silent, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something—except for the winter birds that made their presence known with their beautiful melodies.

  Then, from out of the bushes, a hare jumped, searching through the snow for something to eat.

  "Focus."

  A bowstring creaked somewhere in the trees.

  "Breathe in."

  "Let go."

  An arrow whooshed through the air and found its mark deep in the hare's nape.

  "HAHA! DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU SEE THAT, FATHER?"

  A boy jumped out of the undergrowth, followed shortly by his father. He was a red-haired boy with disheveled and tangled shoulder-length hair, while his father—a man with a noticeably unkempt beard—appeared particularly emaciated.

  "Good work with your aim, Aaron."

  The boy picked up the hare's body by its ears and pulled the arrow out.

  "We don't have to go hungry tonight, ain't that right, Father?"

  He looked over to see his father looking ahead.

  "Skin that hare. Quickly now, boy," he said, his voice gruff. He didn't even look back at him.

  Aaron stared at him for a moment, waiting for his father to look back. He didn't. The boy sighed, unsheathed the hunting knife, and got to work. He made small cuts to the hare, tossing the head aside, then made a cut across the torso before pulling at it, cutting where the hide met the flesh as he pulled.

  "Is there another blizzard coming?"

  "Yes. This one is also going to be severe. It will arrive at..." He paused for a moment, as if trying to estimate it. "In the evening."

  Aaron clicked his tongue. For the last couple of days, the weather hadn't been kind to them. They had to stay in a crudely made camp during those days, and the limited food they had from their last hunt had been emptied the day before, forcing them to starve for a day and a half.

  "Alright, let's get going. At least we have a meal."

  Aaron grabbed an empty satchel that hung loosely on his belt, put the skinned rabbit in, pulled the string to tighten it, and strapped it back on.

  "Got any idea where we should go? Or are we going to aimlessly walk?"

  "We will walk until we find shelter or when the weather—"

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Aaron, knowing better than to question him, just followed. He kept his guard up nonetheless, as the only sound was the winter birds. Two of them were particularly loud on a tree branch. They were nicknamed the Horned Tattles. They looked like ordinary songbirds except for the two horns on the sides of their heads and their inflated, red-colored chests. They were doing some weird dance, jumping against each other as they moved.

  Aaron snickered at the weird display. He always thought they were pretty dumb.

  "How do those birds even survive? They're always so loud that they're basically easy food for any owl."

  Aaron looked over at his father, waiting for an answer since he had always been fond of birds.

  "Father?" He picked up his pace to walk beside him. "You alright?"

  "Hm? Oh, I am. No worries, boy. What were you asking before?"

  "I was asking about those dumb, loud birds," Aaron said, sounding a bit unsure as his father turned his head back before looking at him.

  "Ah... the horned tattles," he said to himself. "Those birds are called that because they are always loud—hence tattling on themselves."

  He shot a glance at Aaron, clearly seeing that wasn't the answer he was waiting for.

  "You want to know how they survive?"

  His question was followed by a nod.

  "Well, it's really simple. They warn each other."

  His answer was met by silence and confusion.

  "That's it?"

  "You'd be surprised by what can be achieved by working together."

  Another pause as the boy was still processing what his father said about those dumb birds.

  "Well, that's bullshit."

  "Aaron, language," his father replied sternly.

  "What? I mean, you're telling me they survive by just yelling? While we have to sneak around in hopes of not getting snapped up by any wild animal?"

  "We are not birds, Aaron. Don't be foolish."

  "Well, maybe we should start yelling then..."

  Aaron's retort was met with a smack from his father's bony and strangely cold hand. It didn't even hurt—it just felt like a cold chill on his head.

  A few hours later, they had found a cave and settled into it. His father sat down on one of the rocks while Aaron went to collect fire starters, gathering dry leaves and breaking sticks from the ground—until he spotted a dead tree.

  "That could be good firewood," he muttered.

  He reached out, snapping one small twig and pressing it against his cheek. Then he shaved a few slivers off. They were long, clean shavings.

  "Perfect."

  Aaron smiled, then reached for a particularly big branch. Small flapping sounds became audible, and Aaron looked up.

  "A Mimus crow," he whispered, eyes lighting up.

  The crow was obviously a juvenile, with the clear casque on its beak reaching up to its head. It hopped down each branch until it stood directly above Aaron.

  "My father will absolutely love you."

  He held out his hand, hoping for it to jump on—which it did, cawing as it stared at the boy curiously.

  "Huh... you're actually pretty cute."

  He rubbed the back of its head before bending down to get the sticks he had dropped, keeping the other arm—the one the crow was on—steady.

  "My father will feel a lot better when he sees you. He's kind of obsessed with you crows. Well, he is a bird nerd after all."

  The crow replied with a caw before Aaron started walking back.

  ---

  Chapter 1.5: What's Colder Than Snow

  As Aaron made his way back with a bundle of sticks, he found his father sitting on a rock, flask in hand, his mind clearly somewhere else entirely.

  Aaron trotted up to him excitedly, wanting to see how surprised and delighted his father would be once he saw the crow. He dropped the sticks aside.

  "Father, father, look what I have!" He presented the crow perched on his hand proudly.

  "Oh... a Mimus crow." His voice was flat, clearly unimpressed, before he took a swig from his flask.

  His answer left Aaron perplexed as he looked at the crow, then at his father again.

  "Just that?"

  "What do you want me to say?"

  "I don't know!? Be excited? Happy?" He practically shoved his hand with the crow next to his father's face. "You used to talk my ears off about them to the point I know everything about them."

  He waited for his father to say anything—just something—but he stayed quiet. Then he lifted his hand toward the crow and waited for it to hop on, but it didn't. It didn't even spare a single glance at him, as if he didn't exist. It just stared at Aaron curiously.

  "Forget it," Aaron said, dropping his hand. The crow flew to sit in the hood of his cloak as he went to start the fire.

  The blizzard had hit hard—so hard that you couldn't see anything outside the cave. Aaron was huddled around the flame with a stick through the meat of the hare as he waited for it to cook. He pulled the hood of his cloak on, where the crow was still nestled, its head now peeking out. Meanwhile, his father sat on the opposite side, staring at the blizzard outside. The silence stretched between them.

  The crow shrieked and tapped Aaron's head sharply with its beak, eyeing the cooking meat.

  "Ouch, ouch! Alright, alright, Artemis, I'll get you a piece." Aaron plucked a small bit of meat and brought it to the crow, which bit into it—almost taking his finger with it.

  "Careful, you hungry bas—" He stopped himself from cursing, momentarily looking over at his father, who was watching their antics. Aaron pulled the hood further over his face as he stared back, feeling awkward, before turning back to the flames.

  "Hey, Father?"

  "You feeling hungry?"

  "No," his father stated simply, without a moment's thought.

  "But..." Aaron paused, looking at his stern face. "You haven't really eaten well in a while."

  "I have eaten enough, Aaron. You need it more than I do."

  Aaron's jaw clenched before he spoke again.

  "Please... Dad?"

  For a moment, Aaron thought his father hadn't heard him at all. Then, finally, he nodded. Aaron quickly tore off a chunk of meat, stabbed it with a stick, and set it on his father's side.

  "Happy?" his father questioned.

  "Very," he quipped back.

  ---