Deep night, a dark impenetrable blizzard, covered the forest, blocking the view from unwanted guests who tried to step into the snowfall of the dark forest. Such weather is cruel to all who dare to come out of hiding.

And what happened? The old raven flew, sparing no effort, even the deep wounds on his body did not stop him. The snow burned his wounds, but his stubbornness did not allow him to stop for a second. But it seems fate decided otherwise, the very next second, due to the inclement snowfall, the sharp-sighted raven's eyes did not see the branches of a coniferous spruce that were in his path.

Impact. Fall. Loss of consciousness.

The black raven, once a proud bird, now woke up in the snow already closer to sunset, towards the dark evening. Rising to his paws, bird realized that he could only barely moves , and what was worse, he could not fly anymore. "A flightless bird is a dead bird," sounded the cruel law of nature, which the black raven knew from an early age.

"Damn these foxes, if it weren't for them I wouldn't be in such a miserable state," he croaked painfully, limping forward, wherever his eyes could see, just to find shelter from this snowstorm and the darkness that hid its predators in the shadows.