Fangs Of Ice

• Ellen Piper, Grade 5
• Short Story
• 2018

Curled in a cave, tucked in the arctic, cowering under a fierce raging cliff cutting through the sky, Storm, a tiny ball of fluff slept soundly, not knowing his life would was about to change forever.
Wrapped in a blanket of stone walls, a pure white polar bear cub intently waited for his mother to return.
Time marched on, but nothing but wind, ice, and snow came tumbling through the frostbitten stone entrance.
Then slowly Storm knew deep down inside his mother wouldn't return.
I cannot stay here.
Peeking his head outside the entrance to the cave, Storm crept outside.
He was met with a blast of ice and snow.
His glistening white fur was swallowed up into a raging blizzard.
Tossed around in furious gusts of wind, Storm turned around and looked at his tiny home.
Oh!
He ran back inside and trotted back out grasping some faded, worn black cloth.
I could never leave it behind. It may be my only part of mother I have left.
Storm gripped it in his teeth and forced himself through the howling wind.
Days later, Storm was lying miserably in the snow, wishing his mother was there. He was completely exhausted. His hunger gnawed at his empty stomach eating him from the inside out. He hadn't eaten or slept in days. The hours that he travelled were all through blizzard, apart from sleepless rests, shivering inside grooves in towering ice shafts.
I may have even been going in circles.
There was a steady crunching through the sharp ice bitten snow, mesmerizingly one after another. Then the noise stopped. There was a strange sickly smell that hung heavily in the air. It was similar to the smell on his cloth that his jaw still clamped.
There were some strange sounds that were a bit like mumbles and surprised, excited "eeks" that Storm had never heard before. Then the drumming of the crunch through snow started again, faster this time, heading in the opposite direction. When the noise was an echo in the distance, Storm forced his eyes open and looked up, breathing heavily. There was a tall creature in the distance walking on its long hind legs, now a silhouette against the bright sun that sat motionless in the now clear blue sky, the blizzard blown itself far away. Later the crunching returned, but this time there were many more figures. Storm whined, falling into unconsciousness.
mother…
Storm woke up. He squinted, noticing another polar bear. Those weird creatures had their hands pressed up against some clear solid substance on one side, staring at him. The air felt weird against Storms’ fur, like an unnatural coldness. Storm realised his paw had been resting on his cloth. It looked cleaner and didn't have his smell on it any more. Storm decided he would soon fix that.
The other polar bear lifted its head. A surge of joy rushed through Storm like a tidal wave.
Mother! You're alive!...