A robin lighted on a winter branch and cocked her head at the pile of snow below her. Something was moving beneath the snow, something large. The robin felt wary of this large thing, but she was still curious. She hopped to the end of the branch to watch it emerge. 

Normally, she would continue on with her day, but she decided to wait and rest. The robin was rather preoccupied with her own thoughts this morning, since she had just seen another bird on a branch; unfortunately, this other bird would stay on the branch. There had been a temperature drop the previous night, and while the robin had found shelter, the other bird had frozen in the icy wind. Interestingly, the first had found a hollow that the second had planned to retire to. Because of this random set of circumstances, the first lived while the second died. 

Ah, well. Such is the way of things.

The creature started to emerge, putting out one ragged limb after another. The robin readied her wings to fly away at any sign of threat, but this creature moved slowly, almost painfully, on all fours. Its black eyes were set deeply into a leathery face, and its fur hung over its hunched shoulders. The fur didn’t even look attached to the creature. 

It crawled over to a small black rock suspended over a pile of sticks. It put its front limbs on the ground to steady itself, then pushed up. 

Suddenly, it grew taller! The bird was so startled by this turn of events that she dove off the branch, twittering away excitedly.

Once standing, the thing didn’t look up. It simply removed something from its fur and made a sudden motion toward the stick pile. Sparks flew and caught, and a small flame began out of the snow.

The fox watched this from the dead grass surrounding the clearing. He, too, was curious, but he cared little for the magic of fire. What puzzled the fox was this figure’s nonchalance. Besides the tree, there was nothing else in the clearing. The figure had no cover, nowhere to retreat to. It didn’t seem to be afraid, however. It rarely looked up, and it went through the motions of the morning without haste.

Maybe it's a predator, thought the fox. Predators would still be on the lookout for rivals, though. This figure seemed to have no idea of the danger it put itself in. 

Maybe it’s sick, thought the fox. It certainly seemed sick. It moved sluggishly, often stopping for breath after the easiest of tasks. What little the fox could see of its limbs was skinny and brittle. The fur hung loosely off its back.

Now, the fox had seen the likes of this figure before, and they had always puzzled him. They never looked up, never watched for danger. He had been seeing fewer of them in recent days, however. 

In his studying, he learned that these figures nearly always kept a cache of dried fish near their den, and the fox could see this figure’s cache now: a woven stick basket sitting to the side of the tree. He was hungry, and this figure was in no condition to give chase. He could easily steal a couple fish.

Daintily, the fox picked his way around the edge of the clearing. While the figure’s back was turned, he darted through the dry grass and caught the cache in his teeth. 

He dropped it just as quickly. It was empty! This creature had no food! The fox ran off into the woods, even more puzzled than before.

The woods were waking up, not just from the night, but from the long winter that had deadened the land. Spring was coming. 

The creature now shuffled through the melting snow. Unbeknownst to the creature, the snow was riddled with the tunnels of a certain field mouse, who happened to be out that morning.

The day is shaping up to be a warm one, thought the mouse. She would soon have to abandon her many snow-tunnels for the surface. 

Although she had enough food in her little den, she was out searching for a couple more morsels. As she traveled through her crystalline tubes, a dark shadow fell across her path. She held still, hoping whatever thing was above her would pass, but it did not. Then, quickly, the shadow grew larger, faster, then came down through the snow with a mighty boom.

The mouse was petrified. The thing lay amid the ruins of her snow tunnels, breathing heavily. As she watched, it raised itself with clawed fingers and continued on. The mouse sat and waited, still shaking with fear. Long after the figure had gone on, she was still waiting and thinking. She was thinking about her litter back in her den. Her pups were so small, so fragile. Two had died already, but such is the way of things. However, she thought, it’s incredible that something so big as the creature could also die. It didn’t seem believable. But such is the way of things. 

A certain group of trees had a good view of this pitiful figure. They listened to its labored breathing as it trudged through the snow. Every once in a while, it would stop and examine some plant. 

Not that one, the aspen whispered to the oak. That is oleander. That is death. This creature does not know what to eat. This creature must know what to eat. 

Not that one, thought the birch, who kept his own council. That is white snakeroot. What a foolish creature, to look for food and find death. 

Soon, the creature came near the stand of trees. 

Not me, said the yew. I will stop your heart inside your thin chest.

 After examining the needles of the yew, the creature sighed and sat on a fallen log. The wind pushed it and was surprised to feel that it offered so little resistance. The thing was so thin. The wind wanted to push it off the log, send it rolling through the snow like a pinecone, but she did not. She kept rushing through the trees and through the new saplings, glancing back at the creature. There was something about it she didn’t like. 

The log, too, felt the lightness of the creature. He understood death, and what it meant to be close to it. He had once been a mighty spruce, but time and the way of things had caused him to fall several years ago. For many months, he lay senseless on the forest floor, layers of snow building upon him. Then, a spark of life grew up from death: a fungus attached itself to the fallen spruce, sucking growth from decay. The log was no longer just the spruce. He was the fungus, the insects, the lichen, and the crumbling wood. Look inside me, the spruce thought. You will find insects to eat. You will find a safe mushroom. You can take this life and use it to feed your own, if only you understood.

The log said none of this, however. He rather doubted that the creature could hear him. He could feel the weakness of the creature through the rough hands that rested on the log. He could feel the sun on his bark. What a shame, thought the log, to die as spring was coming. But such is the way of things.

It was fully bright now, and the sun laughed down at the shining world. The snow sparkled like diamonds over the hills. The robin and her friends swooped through the air, chirping with delight. Little rivulets of water trickled down from the icicles. Everything was coming alive, and the great world beckoned. 

Well, this is rather comfortable, thought a spider as she climbed on the shoulder of the thing. I could travel here very well. 

She clung on with tiny hairs as the figure moved to stand. It walked out of the trees, and moved unsteadily over the thawing earth. The spider was very happy. She cheerfully crawled up the sleeve of the poor thing and sat on its shoulder. 

This spider had eaten roughly one hundred flies and mosquitoes in her lifetime, and each one had given her energy. The spider didn’t know, but later that day she would become prey to the robin and give the robin enough energy to search for a mate. Of course, the robin would later be eaten by the fox, and the fox would have enough energy to search for his mate.

The spider knew none of this. She sat patiently on her transportation and thought of the gorgeous web she would build when she got to her new location. It would be enormous and shimmering, the perfect way to catch all the flies she needed. It would be between two thin branches of a maple tree, roomy in the spring, gentle in the--

Suddenly, the figure reached up and crushed the spider. 

The figure shook its fur, and the spider’s broken body fell to the ground, useless. The figure’s heavy tread quickly obscured the spider from sight. It seemed as though the robin wouldn’t get her meal after all.

By now, it was noon. The sun hung magnificently in the sky, beaming down on his kingdom. He could see the creature, the thing, the figure. Suddenly, its slow gait turned into a halting sprint

The figure ran several yards and dropped to its knees before a large plant. Digging furiously, it scraped the snow from the spot and started to pull up the plant.

Just as it had tightened its grip around the stalk, it stopped. 

It slowly let go. It looked at its hands, which were now covered in tiny lesions and welts. It looked back at the plant in disbelief.

“What are you?” it whispered.

If you don’t know, you shouldn’t be here, huffed the plant. He was not pleased about being handled so roughly.

“Please tell me. I must know.”

Well, I was your salvation. Or that’s what you thought, wasn’t it?

 The plant laughed, but tears stood in the figure’s eyes.

“If I don’t find something to eat today, I will die. Please! Are you what I think you are?” 

The plant just laughed. You don’t deserve to be here if you don’t already know the answer! And if you die, so what? Your body will nourish my roots and the cycle will continue. 

“But that’s not fair! Why should you live while I die? Why do you deserve to be here but I don’t?” the creature cried.

Drawn by the commotion, the robin fluttered down to a nearby tree. 

What’s going on? She called down to the plant.

This creature doesn’t know what I am! The plant yelled back up.

Shall I tell it? She asked.

No! said the plant. It will know soon enough. A silly creature like this one won’t live for very long if it doesn’t know what to eat.

The robin laughed at this, and the plant laughed with her. The creature covered its face with its hands.

“Why won’t you tell me?” The creature had tears streaming down its hollow cheeks. It looked pathetic.

Because that isn’t the way of things, said the plant, suddenly angry. Each creature lives in a cycle, and each creature must die. You have cheated your end for far too long. Look at you! Your arms are thin and the flesh hangs loosely off them. Even if you eat me, I won’t sustain you long enough to find another of my kind. 

You are starving, the fox added, having crept in from the surrounding woods. Your time is now, and this is the way of things.

“No! Please, no! I don’t want to die! Not yet!”

All things must die, said the mouse gently. Her melting tunnels had forced her to the surface to watch the greatest drama unfold.

“But not me! I’m not-- I’m not like the rest of you!” It screamed at the circle of animals.

The sun laughed, and the animals joined in.

“Stop! Stop laughing at me!” The creature beat the ground with its fists and howled at the sky.

The wind rushed around the circle, giggling hysterically. The fox and mouse looked disapprovingly at the skinny thing weeping on the ground. The robin, plant, and sun laughed uproariously. The trees looked away sadly. The spider lay crushed in the dirty snow. 

The snow melted and spring came.