In the long stamped path over white snow the blood left distinct marks, slowly catching into evaporating bubbles of steam. The fox sniffed at the ground in pursuit of prey, a lonely hunter, surviving at this point on instinct and genetics. Above a hawk watches, circling, making note for an upcoming feast, talons ready for the rapture. The river slowed by ice, the temperature cause for concern, the fish buried to the lowest depths, with the mud holding earth warmth inside. 

And along the shallow edge the survivors would come, one by one, for a last taste of life, before the world froze, and an eternal winter began.