Winter

Meg watched the snowflakes cover the ground. It had been 3 months since her father died. Her hands had healed and she had little doubt she would make it through the winter without starving. She was alone though and every day felt herself slipping a little more into depression. Her father wasn't a great conversationist but he had been another living breathing person. Meg debated going into town. There she would have people to talk to, but also lots of questions. If someone found out her dad had died would they follow her? Maybe take her food and valuables? Not that she had much of value. Just her food, water and a few bits of jewelry her father called 'play jewelry'. Meg had never cared because the rings were pretty and when she was tiny the necklace had fit on her head like a crown.

She decided to wait till the spring. She could make it till then without another person to talk to. She was sure of it. Besides it would be more special in the spring. Meg had been born when the spring flowers started popping up from the frozen ground. This spring would be her 19th year. She was sure it would be a great way to celebrate.

Meg frowned lightly as the cold began to seep her into her bones. She covered the window and threw another log into the fire of the old stove. She would need to get more wood chopped tomorrow. She missed having someone to share chores with, but was also glad her father taught her how to do what was needed. She hummed loudly to fight off the silence around her. It was always so quiet, it was one of the things that drove her mind towards going to town, she began singing a song after a few minutes. Her dad had sung while her worked, songs from years ago, he never tried to take credit for them but didn't always know who wrote them.

Meg sang a song about dashing through the snow followed by a song about Clementine. She grew tired of her own voice and decided to have dinner. Her food store was lasting and she had even been able to kill a deer before winter sat in. She had smoked the venison and made enough jerky to last through spring. Megs dinner consisted of bread and jerky venison. It wasn't much but she was full and safe.

When she was little she had found a dog. It was scrawny and had fleas and maybe even mange but she had wanted its company. Her father had shooed it off, he explained that they couldn't be responsible for it. Meg hadn't understood and tried to keep it a secret from her father. She would give it half of her food and play with it in the woods. She had cried the day she found it dead. Some other animal had killed her dog and ate most of it. She had been mad at her father, mad enough that she screamed at him and threw a fit.

Adam sighed and grabbed a shovel. He followed Meg to the body and carefully moved what was left onto the shovel and hauled it back to the house. He set to digging a hole by the weeping willow and had Meg father some flowers. "This is what I was saying Meg. That dog could still be alive, out there away from here. You feed it and made it feel secure, it wasn't though. This is your fault."

"I just wanted a friend Daddy." Meg admitted through her tears.

"Friends will do one of two things Meg. They will leave you or turn on you. They may not wanna leave you, like your mom, but they will. One day I will leave you too. Remember this, it's better that they leave you then they turn on you. That hurts worse." He had finished the dogs burial and went back to keeping the two of them alive.

At the time Meg had no idea anything could hurt worse then losing her dog.

The snow didn't stop all night. In the morning Meg could hardly open the door. She had to fight her way through the snow and shovel it out of her way. She huffed and puffed as she tried to make a path to the woodpile. It was still snowing and her path was going to be covered up by morning if it kept it up. With that thought in mind Meg chopped all the wood she could and placed it inside the house by the door. She didn't want to freeze to death if she was trapped inside for a few weeks.

She changed out of her wet clothes and hung them by the fire before she settled down in her long-johns by the stove. It was a few minutes later she heard a scrapping noise. She stood and tilted her head as she listened for the noise again. It was coming from her door. Meg grabbed the old shot gun her father had left her, it was made of wood and 100 percent fake, but he thought it might scare someone enough to leave. Meg opened the door a crack and pointed the end of the wooden shotgun out it.

"Who's there?" She asked in her deepest voice. No answer came. She carefully looked out the crack and saw a silver wolf laying on her doorstep. It was bloody and looked to be asleep, or dead, it's front left paw had been scratching the wood of her door. "Fuck." Meg breathed looking around for more wolves. When she was sure there wasn't a pack about to jump her she opened the door fully and pulled the wolf inside. "Daddy would kill me." She muttered as she shut the door. Meg wasn't sure what possessed her to bring the animal inside, or why she was hurrying to boil snow.

Was she really lonely enough to get eaten by a wolf?

Yes, she was. She boiled down snow and tore strips of old cloths to be boiled. That done she rummaged to see what medicine she had left. She had no idea if a wolf could take some of the stuff she had, but figured cleaning the wounds and maybe doing stitches if needed would be fine. Before she began she tied a cloth around the wolves muzzle and prayed it wouldn't bite her.

The wolf was passed out for most of her examination. It had lost a lot of blood, wounds on its right side and left hunch was the cause of most the blood loss. It had other smaller wounds as well. She was pretty sure a rib or two was broken. There wasn't much she could do for any internal wounds, so she sewed up what was deep and wrapped the stitches with clean bandages. She found an old sheet and tore it in half long wise to wrap the wolves ribs with. The beast had woken more than once while she worked and tried to scoot away, but never tried to attack. Once Meg was satisfied that she had done all she could do she draped a thick cover over the silver wolf and retreated to her bed exhausted.