Time flies, and another week has vanished.
The northern landscape is now a world of white miles of frozen earth and endless falling snow. The lush green forest has officially turned into a vast, icy wasteland.
"Man, this is ridiculous."
Stepping out onto the drifts, I'd bet the snow is at least two feet thick in most places. It doesn't just slow me down; it makes me stick out like a sore thumb. A Sabertooth's brownish-gold fur is basically a neon sign against a white backdrop. Add in my size, and trying to pull off a standard ambush is ten times harder than it used to be.
Why couldn't I have been born a white tiger?
I'm starting to get frustrated. Most of my hunts lately have ended in failure. I think I'm being all sneaky, but the prey spots my shadowy figure from a mile away and bolts before I can even get into position.
But the real problem facing the family is simple: the food is disappearing.
The rodents that used to dig holes everywhere are mostly hibernating.
The rabbits that aren't sleeping have stocked up their burrows and rarely show their faces. Even the bison, wild horses, and antelope—have started huddling into massive herds of thousands, trekking south toward warmer weather.
Those herbivores have sharp noses. They can smell the rain coming from hundreds of miles away, and where there's rain, there's green grass. That's their destination.
Hunting is becoming a nightmare for Mom and Dad, too. They've had to change their routine, heading out at dawn and staying out all day, often coming back empty-handed. They're probably already thinking about leaving the territory and following the herds south.
You can't cook without ingredients, and right now, the pantry is bare.
A week has passed, and I'm still struggling to hit my goals. My gene points are barely trickling in, and my stomach is constantly growling. Life is hard when you're a tiger in a snowstorm.
Early one morning, I left the cave alone, facing a biting wind. Mom, Dad, Zack, and Zoe were still out cold—when you're starving, sleep is the only way to save energy.
I felt the same exhaustion pulling at me, a warning from my body that I was running low on fuel. I ignored it and chewed on a mouthful of snow instead. The brain freeze woke me up real quick.
Today, I was trying something new.
It was still an ambush, but I had to adapt to the environment. I wasn't sure if it would work, but sitting around waiting to starve definitely wasn't the answer.
First, I needed the right spot. After searching for half the day, I found a small ravine. A shallow creek was still trickling through it, keeping a few stubborn patches of green alive along the banks. I checked the terrain and nodded.
Perfect
I picked a spot and started digging. I wasn't just making a mess; I was measuring the hole against my own body. My paws made quick work of the packed snow, and in less than half an hour, I'd carved out a pit deep enough to hide most of my frame.
Once the basic shape was there, I climbed in to widen the bottom. A trap is useless if you can't move. I needed enough space to coil my muscles and explode outward. If I just buried myself, I'd be stuck.
Another thirty minutes later, the mark-two snow pit was finished. I tested it out—it hid me well, and I had plenty of room to kick off with my hind legs for a pounce.
Step one: complete. I hopped out and trotted over to some nearby bushes, snapping off a few leafy branches. Then I climbed back into the pit, rear-end first, facing the trail. I used my front paws to pull the loose snow over my body, smoothing out my tracks as I went. Finally, I poked the branches into the snow in front of my face.
"Alright, let's see if it works or not."
I took a breath and waited. From the outside, I was almost invisible. Most of my body was under the snow, and the branches acted like a screen—I could see out, but no one could see in. To any animal walking by, I just looked like a small, harmless bush,
Total camouflage.
I actually got the idea from that badger I killed. Badgers are world-class diggers, and they use a "wait and see" tactic—dig a hole where prey is likely to show up, hide inside, and wait for a meal to walk over their heads.
It's a tedious way to hunt. You spend a lot of energy digging and then you might sit there all day for nothing. Even badgers don't do it much. But in a desperate winter like this? It might be my only shot.
I settled into the pit, keeping my ears pinned and my eyes on the creek. All the prep work was done. Now, I just needed some poor herbivore to wander into my line of sight so I could end this dry spell.