Chapter 2: The Polar Bear

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl. She lived with her mother and father in a little hut up in a snowy mountain. It was always bitterly cold in the hut, as they were very poor. The little girl's father worked hard chopping wood for the hearths of rich families that lived in the village at the foot of the mountain, but he was paid very little. More often than not he was too tired to chop wood for his own hearth, so the little girl would gather fallen sticks and pine needles from the trees around the little hut to light a small fire for her mother. It might have been unbearably cold in the hut up in the snowy mountain, especially during the night when the wind howled and raged in through the glassless windows, threatening to blow out the tiny flames in the hearth, but the little girl never minded. Her mother would always put her on her knee, cuddle her close and tell her stories- stories told to her by her mother when she was a little girl. The little girl would nestle close to her mother's warmth and drink in the tales like a hungry wolf. Her mother warmed her frail body and the tales warmed her heart. Sometimes, the stories would be sad, and at the end of it the little girl would have tears rolling down her cheeks. Nevertheless, she listened attentively, drinking in as much as her young head could hold, because she wanted to remember all the stories so that she could tell them to her little girl when she was older.

One harsh winter day, the little girl's mother was struck with a terrible disease. It was so strange, so unlike a common cold or fever. The father brought the village doctor to see her, but he shook his head and could do nothing to save her. The little girl would search the snow-covered forests furtively for wild herbs, sometimes having to dig for hours through the thick snow with her bare hands to get to the precious plants. She would return to the little hut when darkness descended, the frosted leaves clutched in her numb fingers, but every time she came back, her mother grew smaller and smaller, weaker and weaker. At night when the wind howled, the little girl would clamber into her mother's bed and cuddle into her, but her mother was cold now, not warm. She was the ice over the frozen river, no longer the warm blanket the little girl once knew. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, until one day, when the sun came up for a brief moment to warm the icicles that hung from the hut's roof so that they melted and dripped, the little girl's mother became so cold no fire could ever warm her up again.

She was buried outside the hut with only a gray slab to mark the grave. The little girl cried herself to sleep that first night, and all the nights that followed. Shaken with grief, she ran out of the little hut, crying for her mother, wishing she could lose herself in the warmth and tales that she could never be able to have again. She ran and ran, stumbling through the thick snow in her worn boots, branches and twigs scratching her, hidden roots tripping her. How many times she stumbled and fell she didn't know- all she wanted was place where she could feel warm forever, to return to the place in the little hut up in the snowy mountain that she called home.

The little girl ran until she came to a large cave, partly hidden by snow and pine trees. Panting and exhausted, the little girl trudged into the cave's darkness. Night was coming; the wind was drawing breath for its hideous wails. Lying on the cold stone floor of the cave, the little girl told herself the stories that her mother had told her in an attempt to warm herself, but the stories only reduced her to tears. She sobbed and sobbed, so lost was she in her sadness she did not hear the scuffling and snorting that came from the depths of the cave. There was a loud grunt that echoed through the cave, and the little girl looked up in alarm. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, and her voice trembled when she called out. She waited, feeling uneasy. She could feel eyes watching her. She waited some more, swallowing her tears and fear.

All of a sudden, she felt something cold, wet and blunt nudge her in the elbow. She screamed out in fright. She ran to the opening of the cave, shaking. She was so cold and stuff she felt as if her bones had frozen through and were cracking as she ran. Something followed her, its steady footsteps soft against the stone floor. It approached the entrance of the cave, and in the moonlight, the little girl stood face to face with a little polar bear cub. Her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at the furry animal. The polar bear gazed back at her, dark eyes regarding her shivering frame calmly. When it was confident that she meant no harm, it came close until its wet nose pushed into the hem of her skirts. It was sniffing her.

For the first time in what felt like years, the little girl let out a laugh that sounded like a loud, dry sob. She knelt down and ran her cold hands through the polar bear's thick fur, white as snow, yet as warm as fire. Tears sprung from her eyes at the memory of her mother's warmth, and in a fit of sadness she flung her arms around the bear's neck and sobbed. The polar bear did not move, only sat and craned its head to catch a glimpse of the crying girl, puzzled. Who was this strange creature, cold as ice, naked as a stone, trembling like a leaf? Why was it making such a peculiar, painful sound when it wasn't hurt? Why was it leaking so badly? The bear stuck its tongue out and licked the little girl's face. Wet. Salty. The girl laughed again, then kissed the bear's nose. She lay down, exhausted, cuddled up against the bear's luxuriant fur. Her eyes were closing, but she fought against it, wanting to stay in this warmth longer. The wind continued to weep and wail outside, snow came down in torrents, but the girl could not see, hear nor feel any of it anymore. All she could see now was her dear mother's face, hear the sweet words blowing over her like a summer breeze, feeling the warmth that her young heart yearned for so desperately.

And as eternal sleep gradually took over her young body, the little girl gave a soft, contented sigh, a sigh so soft it was barely audible, yet it seemed to drown out the cruel, endless howl of the wind.


She was home at last.