The morning was so cold that Rufus the fox could see his breath.
He trotted through the woods to the pond for a drink — and stopped.
The pond was frozen solid. Perfectly flat, perfectly clear, like a giant mirror laid on the ground.
Rufus stepped onto it carefully. His paws slid. He scrambled. He slid again.
He looked down through the ice. He could see the shapes of reeds and stones underneath, deep and still.
He breathed on the surface and watched the cloud of fog he made.
Then he lay down flat on the ice, pressing his nose against it, and looked and looked at the world underneath.
By midday, the ice had begun to melt at the edges.
Rufus took a long drink from the cold, clear water.
Winter, he decided, was worth paying attention to.