The continuous roar of the wind through the trees was only muffled by her heavy coat, not silenced. The sheer inescapable noise of it threatened to drive her insane. Even if she could sing now, if her lips weren't cracked and frozen, the howling storm would have buried her song in snow. She didn't know how to go on, but she knew that she must. That old animal instinct was all that was left of her. Keep moving. Survive.
Some part of her wanted to curl up and die here, lost until spring. Let the animals feed their young through the harsh winter with her body. It would only be fair, after all. She thought of her children. They were all grown to big for the cabin, and had moved out into the world. They'd all be able to say they'd tried. They'd tried to move her to the city, and they'd tried to stop her from her hunting expeditions. None of them expected to succeed though. They knew their mother.
She couldn't feel her left arm. Her coat had been torn through in the fall, and the wet snow had found its way through the scarf she had wrapped around the opening. Ruby "Mother Grizzly" Truesdale was a woman who was meant to be a man, they said. She always replied that she was just what a woman was meant to be. Ma Grizzly pushed her knees through the snow one after the other and roared. With renewed vigor she plowed forward, pushing through the heavy pine branches. There, just through the trees, was the faintly glimmering light of hope. When Ruby told the story later, she'd say, "A single candles flame can be the most beautiful sight when you're lost in the dark."
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