The Dark Forest path was blanketed with snow. It must have come down heavy last night; what for it to manage break the canopy and reach the forest floor. The air was colder. It had a definite nip. Bif hadn't noticed last night, he had been down in the Gremlin Tree, where the air was cloying and warm. Warmer still from all the bodies digging. Though, only Avedis and himself last night.
Bif had went off furiously digging just to do something with himself. A turn sat in the library hadn't done it for him. And that was queer; usually he lost himself in tomes well enough. Next, he had delivered soup to the Mountain Camp Gremlins. But just as the turns before, they had waited until he was gone back down the trail before they had come to collect his offerings. They hadn't bothered with him yet. Not that the Tree lot bothered all that much with him either. But occasionally they did snigger and steal sweets from his pockets. And Bif was heartened enough by that; that they weren't scared of him. Bif had to take whatever scraps he could get. Somewhere along the way, he had grown used to loving things that didn't really love him back.
But when Bif had emerged from the Hollowed Tree this morning, he had been greeted by a vast expanse of white. All pure and bright. His usual morning routine was to head to the soup kitchen; to pick up the scraps for the chaps. Usually, he took the foot road around the forest. But today, the boy in him had taken him on a different path. It had been snowing, you see. And there was a great pleasure in being in it. And even greater pleasure in walking in the parts that were yet untouched.
There were no footprints on the forest path. But that didn't mean anything. People might be here still. Folks strayed from the path all of the time. It seldom got used at all. Bif didn't use it himself. Bif thought himself as more of a meanderer than a follower of paths. And if he followed the path today then he would surely leave a trail - and trails could be followed.
Did he want to be followed? He wasn't sure. His Gnomish Morris Dancing Slippers did leave a very distinctive trail. Anyone who knew him would recognise it.
After a quick moments deliberation, Bif took a deliberate step off the path; ducking a branch and starting off through the twiggy undergrowth. He could be alone for a marc. He could be with people when he got to the soup kitchen. Caritas was always there. And Moss was likely busy with the peeling. They probably already had the scraps ready for him.
There was that word again. Scraps. Bif was a great collector of scraps. Scraps of food. Scraps of cloth for their beds. Scraps for the Junk Golem. Scraps of affection for Bif.
The snow was making the forest look more pleasant than usual. The snow deftly hid the churned brown earth beneath. For a moment Bif worried that he might step in armadillo poo. Or bear poo. (The forest was where bears pooed after all). Thinking on it, it was frightening the amount of crap a pretty visard could disguise.
It half made him wish that he had stayed on the path. That, and the fact that the snow was mildly disorientating. He knew where he was going; he was trying to find the sapling. So Bif just resolved to walk vaguely in that direction. If he hit the gates of Milltown; then he had come too far.
Bif had grand hopes of one day decorating the sapling for Winter's Warming. The sapling didn't belong to Bif. But he was sure the tree wouldn't mind all the same. But it was still too twiggy for that anyway. It would likely take a great few cycles before the little tree was big enough to hold up that weight.
"Don't worry, little tree," said Bif, as he arrived at the clearing at last, "We will give you time to grow."
The sapling looked sparcer still for the snow. The chill had caused it to drop it's leaves. Bif reached out to touch it's bark; wondering if the sapling was truly cold.
He had a vague memory of mum bringing in her pots for the winter. So likely they did feel the nip just as keenly. Bif removed his scarf, and made his best effort to wrap it about the spindly body of the tree. It had been in the desert before, after all. It was probably a great deal chillier in the woods. But at least the little tree now had the big trees to crowd over it.
“Always, always. Faithfulness beyond any man’s deserving. I will keep the colour of your eyes when no other in the world remembers your name. There is no immortality but a tree’s love.”
Bif stepped back to admire his handiwork, and muttered the quote through a smile. He had liked that book when he was a kid. Pity he'd left it at home.
A soft fwump from his back disturbed Bif from his reverie, and he turned to see the Bear Cub; still as underdeveloped as the sapling; lolloping about in the snow.
"Aha! There you are!"
The cub revelled in the snow just as much as Bif had hoped it would, and it lit joy within his heart to see something so innocent and without care. He had left his pack by the edge of the clearing, and now the cub was snuffling about it; looking for a morsel without any finesse.
"There is nothing inside really..." He began, coming to the cub and assisting with the fastenings of his pack so that the creature might see. "Oh, actually. Wait! There are a few squashed biscuits. Here."
Bif deposited the leavings for the bear, and resolved that he should likely deliver soup to him later too. Surely he should be hibernating by now, anyway?
Bif snorted one of his jovial laughs as he watched the bear snaffle up his meagre offerings.
"Hey. I think I've thought of a name for you. We should call you Scraps."