The boy lies in bed, sick and cold. His body is brittle like the snowflakes stuck to his window, stomach as empty as his food reserves.

He holds no hope for his survival. No hope for the future, the one thing that once kept him going.

His clansmen left all those years ago to find warmer lands without him. Their promise of coming back, of taking him with them, is what helped him hold on for so long.

He would have waited. But they never made it. Not a single one of them. The carnage of their sleds is proof.

He’d been a fool to hope. There was never a chance. No way out.

His fever only runs higher and higher and he can only lie down and accept his time ending while he holds the paw of his only friend Joaan, his pet reshy wolf.

“Joaan, when I die, you can eat me. That way I can always be part of you,” he croaks. He pants softly. “I’m not sure if I’ll be tasty though, haha. I’m sure I’m too bony,” he chuckles wryly.

Joaan only tilts his head, a soft huff escaping his nostrils as he pokes his nose against the boy’s hand as if to comfort his friend.

The shack rattles in the harsh winds. Soon the boy too will be buried in the snow. The tundra never forgives.