Amid silence and numbing cold, faint, fleeting footsteps pressed into the snow. A little boy, not yet five years old, wandered across the wide, white meadow. The wind tousled his fine blond hair. A smile lit his innocent face, and his laughter rang free, though no playmate shared it.

With clumsy steps, he dashed here and there, leaving tiny prints across the frozen earth. His small hands scooped up a pebble that gleamed like a black diamond. Holding it high, he cried, “I found treasure!” He turned to the distance—where a woman watched him with tender eyes. She was strikingly beautiful. Her gaze was gentle, her hair long and blond, and her eyes a bright blue, so like the boy’s own. She was his mother.

The blond child kept running without pause, until he discovered something else behind a large stone: a small creature, white-furred with long ears—an animal he had yet to know. Curiosity lit his eyes as he crept closer, sneaking from behind. He tiptoed like a thief in the night. Just as he was about to pounce, the animal’s ears twitched, and in an instant it darted away.

The boy chased after it. His little steps were far too slow to catch the creature, but his spirit was relentless. He ran on, laughing, until a jutting rock caught his foot. The blond child toppled forward, his head plunging into a mound of snow. Still... he refused to give up. Rising again, he laughed as if nothing had happened. Yet something warm trickled down his brow. He wiped it, staring at the red smear upon his palm. His laughter broke into sobs. He stumbled toward his mother, crying.

“M-Mommy...”

“What is it?”

“The rock was mean!”

His mother stifled a chuckle. She turned aside, reaching for a first-aid kit, as if she had already expected this.

“Come here, your forehead.” She drew close, gently brushing away the snow and dirt from her little boy’s face. Dabbing his brow with cotton soaked in medicine, she said, “Thankfully the ground is still covered in snow. Otherwise, this wound could have been much worse.”

“Aw!” the boy cried as the cotton touched his skin.

“And? How does it feel?”

“Why would you hurt me?” he asked, pouting.

“It stings now, but it will heal you faster and keep the wound from infection. Sometimes the bitter thing is the best thing.”

The boy blinked, not quite understanding.

The mother blew softly on the wound.
“What I mean is... I never wish to hurt you. I love you, Aiden.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 1: Aiden