As the days began to lengthen and the sun climbed higher, the forest
country of the north stirred under the icy fetters that had bound it for
long, weary months, during which the snow had drifted deep and famine
had stalked the trails. Under the influence of a warm south wind the
sunlit hours became musical with the steady drip, drip of melting snow,
while new life seemed to flow in the veins of the forest creatures grown
gaunt under the pinch of hunger. Only Kagh, the porcupine, had remained
full fed, but Kagh had been unusually blessed by a kind Providence, in
that every tree held a meal for him in its soft inner fibers.
It was yet too early to expect the final breaking up of winter. There
would still be days when the cold would be intense and snow would drift
in the trails. Nevertheless spring had called, and even the sluggish
blood of the porcupine responded. Every day the earth's white mantle
grew more frayed about the edges, leaving a faint tinge of green on
warm southward slopes.
It was on one of these mild days that Mokwa, the black bear, shouldered
aside the underbrush which concealed the mouth of the snug cave where he
had hibernated, and stepped forth into the awakening world. Half blinded
by the glare of sunlight upon the snow, he stood blinking in the doorway
before he shambled down the slope to a great oak tree where a vigorous
scratching among the snow and leaves brought to light a number of
acorns. These he devoured greedily and, having crunched the last sweet
morsel, sniffed eagerly about for more. Mokwa had fasted long, and now
his appetite demanded more hearty fare than nuts and acorns.
The nights were chill, but each day brought a perceptible shrinking of
the snowy mantle, leaving bare patches of wet, brown earth. One day
Mokwa, breaking through a thick clump of juniper bushes, came out upon
the bank of the Little Vermilion, its glassy surface as yet apparently
unaffected by the thaw. For a moment the bear hesitated, his little
near-sighted eyes searching the opposite bank and his nose sniffing the
wind inquiringly; then, as if reassured, he stepped out upon the ice
and made for the opposite shore.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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