Issue VI

Themes are what sum up the entirety of a piece of writing. It can show the struggles of one person against society, an old tale told to children to behave, or any message you want to convey. Themes are everywhere! They can also be a tough thing to nail down. What is it that you want your audience to get out of your writing? What is the emotion you want to evoke? What should be the lesson learned? Maybe you’ve already written 3,000 words without thinking about the scope of the plot. These fresh tips will help you figure out what theme you want your writing to follow.

Tip 1: From the Top of Idea Hill

From the brains of writers around the globe, ideas seem to appear out of thin air. However, some of these ideas may seem frivolous and not fully thought out. For the ones that you do want to flesh out, key words and initial feelings can help draw out the message you want to send to your readers. Is the idea more dark with underlying tones of angst and darkness? Are you writing about a small little village where every building is whimsical and the air drips with romance? Ideas like these can spark an underlying message you want your readers to walk away with at the end of your writing. Maybe the brooding, shadow-filled city with a brewing uprising is to show the social inequalities of the wealthy and the middle class. Or, maybe the vibrant village with blushing sideways glances and awkward conversations is meant to show that love can happen to anyone in any way. Find that message, and use it to build your story!

Tip 2: Coincidence? I Think Not!

Word choice dictates how the theme of your story is interpreted. Sometimes, certain words will appear more than once. Like the above example, the dark city with an inevitable uprising  can have words like “inequality” or “poverty” orbiting the idea or in an already written story. Reoccurring words that fit well into the narrative can hint at the message you’re trying to convey to your readers, even if you don’t realize it. Use these words that filtered into your writing or mind before you’ve written to construct the theme!

Tip 3: Resonate, Refine, Review

Who is your target audience? Maybe you're writing a story for middle readers, but your word choice is at a higher maturity level. Reconsider your audience, and if you want to keep that target audience, possibly reconsider the words you use to keep them engaged and interested. Sometimes, when it comes to reviewing how well you conveyed your message, it may help to look at other published works that revolve around the same theme. Gather notes on what they did and if you think it would better your own piece of literature. Try things out and see how they fit!

BEEP BEEP BEEP.
My alarm clock blared, and I scrambled to shut it off.

“Time to wake up, Margo!” my mom called down the hall.

“New town, new school, new people... great,” I muttered under my breath. Who moves in the middle of the school year anyway?

“Aren't you excited? I’m sure you’ll make so many new friends!” My mom’s voice was bright—too bright. She’d been trying to cheer me up ever since the accident.

“I don't want new friends,” I snapped quietly. “I want…. I never wanted to come here.”

She stopped in the hallway and turned to me. "What do you want me to do about it? We're doing our best for you—”

“Bye, Mom.” I cut her off and walked out the door.

The great Lebanon, Oregon. Not so great. Sure, the town itself isn’t awful, but I’d rather be home with my friends. I don’t even know why we had to move. And our old house back in Washington? Way better. This new place is ancient—like 100 years old. The windows are so thin here they can't even keep the cold out. and honestly, it feels like the house is alive or something. I hate it.

I finally made it to my new school: LHS, or Lebanon High School. “Boy, someone really got creative with that one,” I muttered with a sigh.

The moment I walked inside—BOOM—the bell rang, and the halls exploded with life. Students flooded the space, sweeping me along with them. Panic gripped my chest. I had no idea where any of my classes were, and I could already tell: I hated this place.

After wandering through the labyrinth of halls, I finally found my first class. To be fair, most of my classes this semester are things I actually like—English, band, social studies. But then there’s P.E. and math... ugh. I can already tell those are going to be rough.

I stepped into the room and froze. Every head turned to stare at me, and for a second, it felt like time stopped.

The teacher, Ms. Burns, looked up from her desk and smiled. “Ah! Class, I’d like you to meet our new student, Margo.”

“Hi,” I mumbled—or at least tried to. It came out more like a squeak.

Ms. Burns tilted her head. “Would you like to share anything about yourself?”

“Oh, um.” My stomach twisted, and my mind went blank. I let out a nervous laugh. “My name is Margo. I, uh… play the guitar and piano. Oh, and I just moved here from Washington.”

“That’s nice,” Ms. Burns said, cutting me off before I could embarrass myself further. “Any questions for Margo, class?”

Great. Just great.

A kid with sandy blond hair and a football jersey shot his hand up.

“Yes, Carter?” Ms. Burns gestured toward him.

“Is that your real hair color? And, oh! That shirt is awesome. I love Slipknot too! What’s your favorite song? Oh, and—”

“Okay, Carter, okay!” Ms. Burns interrupted with a sigh. “Let’s give her a break.”

“Sorry,” Carter mumbled, slumping back in his seat.

Ms. Burns pointed me toward an empty desk, and I slid into it, praying the rest of the day would pass quickly. Spoiler: it didn’t.

On my way home, I spotted that kid—Carter. Yeah, it had to be him. Same sandy blonde hair, same jersey with the giant 42 on the back. And, just my luck, he saw me too. He jogged over with a grin plastered on his face.

“Hey, Margo, right? I just wanted to say sorry for asking so many questions earlier. People say I’m kinda… energetic.” He scratched the back of his head, then reached into his pocket. “Want some chocolate?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” I said, waving it off.

He didn’t seem to notice. “Well, hey, would you like a ride?”

My heart sank. A ride? No way. “Oh, no, I can just walk.”

“Come on, please?” He sounded like a whining dog, all eager and insistent. Honestly, he didn’t seem like a bad guy, but I could tell he wasn’t going to give up anytime soon. If I didn’t say yes, I’d probably be stuck here forever.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed.

We climbed into his silver truck. “Wanna play some music?” he asked with an eager smile.

“I’m okay,” I replied, sinking into the seat, feeling the weight of the moment. As he turned the key in the ignition, my heart sank even further.

“Okay, but seriously—is black your natural hair color, or do you dye it?” Carter asked, his voice carrying an odd, almost playful tone.

“It’s natural,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you so interested in hair?” My sarcasm was sharp, but I couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “A lot of people dye their hair black, that’s all.”

His words hung in the air, unsettling me. Was he saying my hair looked fake? Or was he just awkward and trying to make conversation? Either way, it rubbed me the wrong way.

We’d only made it halfway to my house when the panic started creeping in, wrapping tight around my chest like a coiled rope. “Pull over,” I said, my voice cracking despite my effort to sound calm.

“What? We’re almost there,” he said, confusion lacing his voice.

“Just let me out!” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he replied, pulling over to the side of the road. He mumbled an apology for something that wasn’t his fault, but I didn’t stick around to hear it. I flung open the door and ran home.

I made it to the house, completely out of breath. My dad rounded the corner, his face instantly tightening with worry.

“Margo? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft. 

I didn’t answer—I couldn’t. The tears were already spilling over. A sob escaped before I could stop it, and I pushed past him, running straight to my room.

I flopped onto my bed, tears running down my face. I just felt the weight of the world crush me under its heel, why does this have to happen to me. Why can't I just be normal? Ever since that accident…. Ever since I lost my best friend in that crash. I just want to disappear. 

I flopped onto my bed, feeling like the weight of the world was crushing me under its heel. Why does this have to happen to me? Why can’t I just be normal? Ever since that accident… ever since I lost my best friend in that crash, everything’s changed. I just want to disappear.

“Knock knock, can I come in?” My mom’s gentle voice floated in from the other side of the door. I hesitated, not sure if I was ready to face her like this.

“Uh, yeah…” My voice cracked.

The door opened slowly, and my mom slipped inside, moving carefully like she was afraid I might shatter. “Hey, darling,” she said, her voice as smooth and sweet as honey. Grandpa used to say that about her. I remember that one Christmas when she was singing carols with him. I haven’t seen her that happy since… and I miss him so much.

She sat down on the edge of my bed, her eyes soft with concern. “Are you doing alright? Do you want to talk about it?”

I sighed, shrugging as I looked away. “Not really… but do I have a choice?”

“Nope, not at all,” she said, lying back on my bed and staring up at the ceiling with a faint smile, like she was trying to make this easier for both of us.

“You know, high school is hard for everyone. It’s going to get better,” my mom said, her voice gentle but determined to lift me up. I wished she’d stop trying so hard.

“Unless… this is about the—” she began, but I cut her off.

“I met a boy,” I blurted out, surprising myself.

“What?” She looked taken aback, her surprise almost softening her expression.

“Yeah, his name’s Carter.” I thought back to the way I’d reacted in the truck. He didn’t deserve that. “He gave me a ride home,” I said, feeling that familiar tightness in my voice returning.

“Oh… so this is about the accident,” she said, as if I’d just confirmed something she’d already suspected.

“You know it wasn’t your—”

“Just stop, please, Mom. I just want to be alone.” I tried not to sound too sharp, but I could hear the edge in my own voice.

Mom sighed, sitting up and looking at me with that same worried gaze. “If you don’t let yourself heal… it’s going to do you a lot more harm than good.” Her words lingered in the air like smoke in a house fire, burning in the silence between us. I held my breath as she got up and left.

I needed something to do, something to take my mind off everything. I scanned my room and then it hit me… I still had so much unpacking to do. Putting on my headphones, I cranked up some music, then headed downstairs to haul up the boxes marked in bold, messy sharpie: MARGO.

Eighteen boxes. I sighed, staring at the mountain of stuff piled in my room. This is going to take forever. I started working through them, one by one. Clothes, posters, old notes… all reminders of a life that felt a million miles away.

Then I pulled out my guitar case. I hadn’t touched it since the accident. Just seeing it brought back memories of Alex, my best friend, who used to beg me to play “Hey There Delilah.” Her laugh, her voice—they all came flooding back.

I opened the case, the guitar glimmering under the light, warm and familiar. I ran my fingers over the strings, feeling the smooth wood, the cool metal. Before I knew it, I was playing, the chords filling the room, like maybe—just maybe—she could hear me.

Tick-tock, the clock is wrong,
time froze where it doesn’t belong.
A tea-stained table, a shattered cup—
the Hatter laughs but never looks up.

“Have you seen the time?” he cries,
though madness sparkles in his eyes.
March Hare dances, Dormouse sleeps,
a broken rhythm no one keeps.

Alice stares, her questions die,
Lost in the Hatter’s Mind

Tick-tock, the clock is wrong,

time froze where it doesn’t belong.

A tea-stained table, a shattered cup—

the Hatter laughs but never looks up.

“Have you seen the time?” he cries,

though madness sparkles in his eyes.

March Hare dances, Dormouse sleeps,

a broken rhythm no one keeps.

Alice stares, her questions die,

as riddles twist and tangle the sky.

The Cheshire Cat grins wide, then fades,

his secrets slipping through moonlit haze.

The Queen of Hearts screams, “Off with her head!”

but her words are brittle, her roses bled.

The Caterpillar hums, the Jabberwock stalks,

and the Hatter spins as the silence talks.

“Where are you going?” Alice pleads,

but Wonderland answers only in seeds—

of chaos, of dreams, of stories untold,

where nothing is certain, and nothing grows old.

Lost in the maze of his whirling mind,

the Hatter toasts to the end of time.

For in this land, all drift, unmoored,

and what is lost cannot be restored.

as riddles twist and tangle the sky.
The Cheshire Cat grins wide, then fades,
his secrets slipping through moonlit haze.

The Queen of Hearts screams, “Off with her head!”
but her words are brittle, her roses bled.
The Caterpillar hums, the Jabberwock stalks,
and the Hatter spins as the silence talks.

“Where are you going?” Alice pleads,
but Wonderland answers only in seeds—
of chaos, of dreams, of stories untold,
where nothing is certain, and nothing grows old.

Lost in the maze of his whirling mind,

the Hatter toasts to the end of time.

For in this land, all drift, unmoored,

and what is lost cannot be restored.

On July 2, 1964, Lyndon Johnson’s Oval Office hosted a historic moment as the 36th President signed the landmark Civil Rights Act into law. Tens of dignitaries and countless television viewers celebrated the new framework outlawing discrimination. Yet, despite this progress, women in education continued to face systemic inequities.

Addressing these inequities required extraordinary political courage, defined by John F. Kennedy in Profiles in Courage as the willingness to sacrifice personal interests for the national good. Representative Edith Green of Oregon exemplified this courage. Facing obstacles and risks to her political career, Green introduced Section 105 and held congressional hearings on sex discrimination, laying the groundwork for one of the nation’s most significant civil rights laws.

Green’s passion for gender equity stemmed from her own experiences of discrimination. Denied opportunities to pursue her dream of becoming an electrical engineer due to her gender, she later became one of the few women in Congress, championing the rights of the voiceless. Throughout her tenure, Green played a pivotal role in crafting nearly every major educational bill, yet she recognized that much work remained. “It was perfectly legal to discriminate in any education program against girls or women,” she observed.

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 fought on discrimination in federally assisted programs through Title VI, which prohibited exclusion or unequal treatment based on race, color, or national origin. However, it did not protect against sex discrimination at all, leaving women and girls vulnerable to systemic inequities. Courageous acts require no skill but to change a wrong into a right, and six years later, Edith Green called herself upon to change another wrong into another right in education. 

In 1970, Green introduced Section 105 of the Omnibus Postsecondary Education Act. Although the section was ultimately thrown out in committee, it marked a very important first step in addressing sex discrimination in education. Green held seven long days of hearings, during which witnesses let out all their struggles with gender-based inequities to the world. These testimonies brought on tons of public support and gave momentum to her efforts.

By 1971, Green, joined by co-sponsor Representative Patsy Mink, reintroduced a revised version of the 1970 bill. Despite resistance from more male-dominated congressional committees and critics who feared the legislation’s impact, Green’s persistence paid off significantly. The bill passed through both bodies of Congress, and in 1972, President Richard Nixon signed the Education Amendments into law, including Title IX. This transformative provision declared: “No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.”

Green’s unwavering dedication to justice epitomized Kennedy’s call to “do what is right, regardless of whether it is popular.” Her courage and resilience changed the landscape of education, ensuring millions of women and girls could access life-changing opportunities that were simply denied to them in the past. Although Green left office two years after Title IX’s passage, her legacy endures. As The Wall Street Journal’s Rachel Bachman noted, “That’s what she wanted to be remembered for—Title IX.”

Much more work is still to be done, but Green’s story reminds us that true political courage is not about popularity but about the willingness to confront injustice and create lasting change.

A crash from the other side of the barricade Winter’s team had put up sounded, sending snow flying through the air. As if there wasn’t already enough of the stuff softly beating down on the ground. Winter growled, his camo-printed uniform and armor plates freezing right through the wolfman’s silvery grey fur. His teammate and good friend, Washi, had to tilt his long, colorful neck down to an uncomfortably awkward position. The joys of being an eelman. Washi’s unsettling, wide eyes and small pupils flicked to Winter. “Hey, you’re enjoying the weather, aren’t you, Winter?” He grinned, putting a variety of needle-like teeth on display. Winter gave him a glare, his fluffy tail swishing through the pile of snow they were sitting in. “Yeah- sure-” He managed to say before another deafening boom blew snow everywhere. A decent-sized clump landed on Washi’s already chilled snout, tugging a hearty laugh from Winter’s maw. Someone’s cry of alarm at the enemy moving forth fixed his gaze to the side. And that alarm was drowned out by the shrill squeal of the aforementioned enemies launching a grenade. The blast sent Winter sailing down the cliff the battle had taken place on. Probably. He couldn’t remember what had happened after that. He couldn’t even remember why the team was here in the first place. Where in the world ever were they? Winter tried to string his thoughts together.
The enemy team- they sounded-
German- right?
Yeah, that’s what they sounded like-
So we’re most likely in Germany-
But- why?
And then he could hear again. For the past few minutes, it had been nothing but ringing. Now he could hear someone walking around and mumbling something to themselves. Something poked his muzzle. “Meine Güte, du frierst, kleiner Hund-”
The wolfman and special ops soldier opened his eyes at that, ignoring the flashbang that was the fluorescent white lights from overhead. And he was met with a glasses-adorned face. Which belonged to a catman leaning over him.
Of all the things, it had to be a feline.
God, Winter hated felines.
“Ah! So zhe verlorener Hund is awake! Wunderbar!” The other announced, leaning back away so his short snout wouldn’t get bitten off if Winter were to have a raging outburst from adrenaline. He didn’t. Thankfully. One more prod, however, and the catman would’ve been fixing himself a new muzzle. Winter sat up with a groan, rubbing his head. Everything was so sore- probably from the fall. He did get sent off the cliff, right? He remembered the blast and the conversation with Washi. Nothing else. “You do speak English, ja?” The feline questioned, scratching at his chin with a pair of black rubber gloves. “Yeah-” Winter grumbled, gripping the table he was laid across. His bulletproof vest and gun were the only things missing from his form, but he soon spotted them on a nearby desk. The urge to put them to use in the moment struck him briefly. But maybe that wasn’t the best idea…
He looked back at the other, taking in more of his features. A large, long and white overcoat covered most of him, only showing a small portion of what laid beneath. Black suspenders claimed his lower half, and a white dress shirt claimed the other. A pair of well-worn dark brown boots tapped the ground beneath him, their loose buckles flailing around. His fur was mostly an off-white, leaning more to light grey, save for the dark grey fur topping his head and running across the back of his ears, head, neck, and probably the rest of his body. His tail- a slender thing, really- swished behind him, bearing signs of his fur colors battling for dominance over the limb, resulting in mottled stripes. The catman readjusted his round, small and silver glasses.
Why did he look familiar?
“Where am I?” Winter asked, slowly beginning to stand up. “A small bunker.” The feline replied, looking down at a clipboard. How informational. “And who are you?” He pressed. “Dr. Fangen- but you may call me Fritz!” The doctor announced. “Now, vhat is yours?”

“Winter.”
“Ah! Vinter! Vhat a wunderbar name!” Fritz grinned, walking away to set the clipboard down. “You mean Winter.” The canine corrected.
“Ja- zhat’s vhat I said- Vinter-”
“You said Vinter. Twice.”
“Vell, excuse me for having an accent, du Mischling-” He started, before a thunderous boom rattled the room. A small curse slid through Winter’s teeth. “Off vith zhe explosions again, I see- Say, you didn’t happen to be engaging in battle before I found you, did you, amerikanisch?” Fritz asked, throwing a glance over at Winter’s gear. Winter scratched his fluffy grey head, a faint look of concern crossing over his usual cold expression. “I think so-” The soldier answered, noting Fritz’s worry increasing. “Signs of amnesia are never good- is anyzhing else blank in your memory?” The catman asked, padding over to one of the several desks dotting the room. “No- I just- don’t remember my mission here-” Winter muttered with the rub of his eyes. Another quake shook everything, and Fritz tilted his head upwards. A rusted gear suddenly shifted in Winter’s mind, starting to set a whole train of thought back on track. “You said your name was Fritz Fangen?” He asked. The doctor looked back down, flashing a grin. “Zhat is correct, verlorener Hund!”
The way he grinned-
Waitaminute-
Fritz must’ve seen the realization drawing on the wolfman’s face, because he asked: “Are memories coming back to you?”
“We were here for you.”
Fritz’s ear flicked. “Kleines Ich? Vhatever for?”
Winter tried to think about why, but that part of his brain wouldn’t start working again, no matter how many possibilities he flicked the switch on for. “I- can’t remember- I just know we’re here to bring you to America-” He said. “Vell, wunderbar! Anyzhing vould be better zhan zhis Höllenloch!” The catman called, before erupting into what sounded like half-mad laughter.

How long has he been down here?
“Haven’t you tried leaving the bunker?” Winter asked, walking over to his gear. “Vhy, of course! I just can’t travel too far- unless I want to end up dead by those who you probably fought!” Fritz replied. Winter’s ears flicked as another crash was heard overhead, followed by more rumbling.
Was that- getting closer?
“How’d you get food and water?” He pressed, shuffling his vest on. “Oh, vell, I have five years vorth of rations left- after zhat I’d either die of starvation, dehydration or hypothermia. Fun zhings, are zhey not? Hoohoohoo!”
Winter gave the doctor a disturbed look. “You don’t talk to people much, do you?” He murmured as he turned back away, not at all surprised when Fritz gave him an upbeat “Nein!”
A crash far louder than all the previous ones sounded from what seemed to be somewhere directly above the bunker, which caused a variety of objects to fall down. “Verdammt- ve have to leave, don’t ve?” Fritz asked. “Doc, the place’s gonna crush us soon- of course we need to leave!” The wolfman barked, whipping around without expecting Fritz to have approached him from behind. The feline jumped back at the sudden turn, narrowly avoiding more falling debris as the bunker was shaken again. “Ja- good idea-” He said, in which Winter grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him towards the nearest exit. The medical room had been mostly concrete and tile, save for a singular packed-dirt corner that Winter didn’t want to think about the reason for. The rest of the bunker, which was indeed small, was also dirt and the occasional stone bit. A ladder upwards caught his attention, and he went straight for it. “Nein, nein! Not up zhere, not up zhere!” Fritz suddenly shouted, tugging Winter backwards by the tail. If the wolfman wasn’t trying to save him, he swore- “Zhere’s a different exit! Over here!” The doctor continued, gesturing to another tunnel. The soldier quickly tailed him, cursing as a lightbulb bashed him in the head. Fritz was struggling to turn the wheel on another bunker door when Winter rounded the corner, and was saying something along the lines of “Dumme, nutzlose, rostige verdammte Tür-”. Winter pulled him away, fastening his larger, stronger paws to the wheel. A couple strong tugs loosened it, and before he knew it he and the catman were tumbling through the door. Fritz, however, failed to mention that the door had led out to a cliff, and the two almost fell right off it. “Why did that lead out to a cliff?!” Winter barked in question to be heard over the still-flurrying snow and the repetitive boom that was more explosions. “Security reasons! I’ve never been in zhe mood to be tortured since- eh- vell, zhat’s a story for another time!” Fritz hollered in return. Winter would’ve given him a curt reply if a chunk of ice hadn’t fallen atop his head. 

Man, today really wasn’t his head’s lucky day, was it? The doctor helped him upright, pulling him down a path. “Hier entlang! Zhere’s a pass- ve might be able to lose zhem zhere!” He shouted. The path was narrow, unfortunately, and Fritz didn’t have the best of balance. Due to that, there were a multitude of times where Winter found himself with a firm grip on the collar of Fritz’s coat. He almost didn’t even catch him on the seventh time it happened. The feline hissed in alarm, latching onto Winter for dear life as snow and ice tumbled past them. “I’m surprised there hasn’t been an avalanche!” Winter noted, doing his best to steady the two of them. “Vell- I zhink zhe earlier explosions caused one-! Ve should still be careful, however- vith zhe amount of falling debris, I vouldn’t be surprised if-”
Fritz was cut off by a mass of packed snow ramming the two of them right off the cliff. In turn, Winter let out a string of some of the most vulgar profanities one would ever hear, and Fritz started screaming bloody murder. And somehow they managed to stay latched onto each other.
It was only three seconds of falling, but it felt like thirty. More so for the soldier of the two, who let his back take the brunt of the blow. At least they were crashing into snow rather than ice or rock. It still hurt, though. A minute of comical falling through the snow tumbling down the steep mountainside later, and Winter came to a stop. I specify only the wolfman because Fritz had somehow slipped from his grasp.
Ohhhh no-
He whipped around, making sure the enemy forces weren’t on their tail, before trying to search through the snow for the doctor. “Fritz-?” He croaked, breathless from the fall. Aforementioned Fritz burst upwards from a pile of snow besides Winter, earning a startled snarl from his toothy maw. “VE MADE IT! HAHAHA! I ALMOST CAN’T BELIEVE IT! VE REALLY MADE IT! Now zhis will be something ve’ll never live down, 

verlorener Hund! Woohoohoohoo!” Fritz whooped, his mad grin causing him to resemble the Cheshire Cat. Winter facepalmed. “Christ- I thought you died for a minute, doc-” He growled. The catman only chuckled. “Various people have experiences like zhat vith me! Zhis’ll be zhe first close call, yet surely not zhe last!”
Winter watched him as he readjusted his glasses, brushing clumps of snow from his coat. He has to be one of the craziest people I’ve met since-
No- don’t think about her- You swore to move on, remember?
A firm, yet freezing grip fished his mind back into reality’s shores from his lake of thoughts. “Ve should get a move on, ja? I don’t assume either of us vould enjoy standing out in zhis storm all day!” Came Fritz’s voice from beside him. The canine nodded in agreement as they started trodding towards the pass that was mentioned earlier, miraculously finding Winter’s gun and Fritz’s bag amongst the mounds of snow.
The pass quickly narrowed into a forested canyon, thankfully. The wind was getting really bad out in the open, and even Winter’s grey pelt couldn’t stand it, especially not with how the chill seeped into his vest. He remembered losing a bet the previous day to where he’d have to bear the outside without a coat for a week. Your favored rat being weaker than the others scurrying through the barracks costs you quite a bit, Winter could tell you. Fritz was doing just fine, though. He even had shorter fur than Winter, which proceeded to confuse him more. Then again the soldier didn’t grow up in usually snowy areas. Thoughts and questions trailed tracks in his head, much like Winter and Fritz’s own tracks, which, Winter realized, were already only faintly visible by now. A particular question’s trail hadn’t been swept away, though, and ran up to Winter’s tongue with a megaphone in hand. “What’s with the whole verlorener Hund thing?” He asked. Fritz tilted his head to look over at him. “Hm? Oh- it means lost dog in German. I zhought it vas fitting for you! I mean, I found you all alone in a clearing of snow and stones, your blood and vest being zhe only non-monochromatic colors I’d seen outside for ages! You were alone- forgotten- lost- so I dragged you back to my bunker and patched you right up! Now ve’re both somevhat lost! Funny, isn’t it?” He replied. Winter shrugged. “Yeah- I guess you’re right-”

~✦~

Winter had no idea what time it was. All he knew was that it was dark, it was cold, he couldn’t see the moon, and he and Fritz had managed to start a small fire. Tomorrow, they’d continue on with what was probably going to be a long journey, but for now-
The canine let out a massive yawn, the nostalgic wafting scent of their campfire pulling him into a sleepy daze. It’s then he noticed Fritz had been staring at him for probably an hour. “My, vhat sharp teeth you have!” The doctor exclaimed, poking at his muzzle. An annoyed spark flared up inside Winter at the touch. “Mhm-” He grunted in return, starting to rest his head against a log. Fritz seemed to take note of the faint tone in his voice. “Vhat, not amused vhen I prod at you, amerikanisch?” He practically taunted. Winter rolled his eyes. “Not really, no.” He grumbled in return, in which Fritz let out one of the stupidest, girly giggles he’d ever heard. “You should probably try to sleep, doc.” Winter murmured, rolling over. With his mind drifting away, he couldn’t be sure of what he heard next. Because he could’ve sworn Fritz had said something in a somber tone.
Something like-
“You do zhat, mein Freund. I vill not be able to. I haven’t done so for twenty years.”

Snow crunched under the Vixen’s paws. 

Her orange fur glowed in winter’s icy tears, sparking and crackling against the blizzard. A dusting of white coated her back, clumps sticking to her underbelly. 

The Vixen huffed, the cloud of frost swirling above her as she tread through the forest. Unfamiliar land, smelling strongly of wolves and buried food troves. She licked her chops at the faded scent of rabbit, its tracks smoothed over in a fresh layer of snow.

She jumped, landing on the slick bark of a fallen tree. Cold air bit into her neck as she peered up at the sky. Soft, orangish-pink clouds hung thickly, caressing the tops of the trees as they emptied their full bellies onto the land.

The Vixen would not admit that she was lost, instead ducking under low-hanging branches of pine trees bearing the heavy weight of winter’s burden. Her paws were numb, eyes cracked to a slit. No, she would not admit she was too far from her territory.

Time passed, the air losing its hold on the clouds as they slowly drifted apart. Flecks of moonlight dripped down onto the forest floor, illuminating the Vixen’s path. Squeezed between the concealing scent of snow, was food. A squirrel, its tracks no longer visible, but the scent very much present. The Vixen stalked the silent land until the ground gave way to a slight cliff. Her ears pricked, honing in on the sound of rustling underneath the cliff’s edge. 

The air sparked with electricity, a hunger unfulfilled. She pounced. Dinner was served. She licked her paws clean, trying to drive the numbness from the pads of her paws and revive the warmth that seemed so far away.

She continued on her journey, belly full, a new spring in each step. Winter’s claws loosened its hold around the Vixen, heat flowing from her frostbitten ears down to her paws. If she knew any better, the Vixen would have thought her fur emitted the faintest orange glow.

“What are you doing out here, Vixen?” A grumbling voice from the left. The Vixen halted, hackles raised. 

“Who are you?” She growled, her eyes failing to pinpoint the voice’s owner. Her nose twitched, trying to catch their scent to no avail. All she smelled was snow and pine.

“I am what you wish me to be,” the voice responded. The ground trembled, and the Vixen scampered up a rock. “Why are you so far from home, Vixen?”

Puzzled, the Vixen stared into the murky depths of the surrounding forest. “Why don’t you show yourself, coward!”

The ground cracked, sending powdered snow into the air. The world opened, jagged and yawning, its depths shrouded in thick shadows.

“Watch your tone, Vixen. I am not the one you wish to undermine.”

“Who are you?” 

The chasm closed, earth and snow stitching back together. The sky lightened, the sea of clouds rapidly thinning to reveal a new dawn. Orange sunlight tinged the treetops.

The Vixen swung around at the shifting of snow, a figure looming above her.

“I am Death.” Metal sliced the air, a whistle all too familiar to the Vixen. She jumped as the blade hit rock. The cold singed her nostrils as she ran, eyes watering from the frosty air.

Harsh laughter came from every side, the sound of metal scraping against bark reverberating into the Vixen’s very bones. She ran, pushing her numb muscles to the limit, catapulting herself over fallen trees. The world blurred, crackling with dark energy that pressed its dagger-like claws into her every side.

The Vixen cried out, plucked from the air mid-leap as cold tendrils of shadows snaked around her middle. 

Death loomed above her, blood red eyes burning holes through her fur. She thrashed, twisting and contorting her body in an attempt to free herself. It was no use. It laughed, a low, growl-like timbre that shook the trees around them. The sun rose steadily above the hill, casting a grotesque shadow against the snow-laden ground. “Such a small little fox.”

The Vixen knew, then.

She was lost, so far from home.

In territory smelling of wolves.

The world dimmed, the unfamiliar stretches of tree branches and coos of songbirds fading. In unknown land, the Vixen’s soul climbed the sky with frosted claws. 

She would not remember this, for Death sealed away the final moments, tucking peaceful memories into the void. It let the final memory fade, back to swirls of powdered snow in the breeze. 

Let the world forget, Death thought. For it cannot bear the weight of an ended cycle.