A Glimpse Into The Winter Habits Of Forest Dragons

20251129

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Being the smallest and weakest of the litter, she always ended up jostled to the least favoured sleeping spot. In summer that had been the deepest part of the burrow, with all six of her siblings between her and whatever cool breeze managed to wind down the long dirt tunnel. Now that winter had set in she was left nestled right at the tunnel’s mouth.
At least this meant when she woke before the others, her restless sleep more easily disturbed, she could slip out and start hunting. Seek out birds still sleepy on their nests, or rabbits just venturing from their burrows.
But this morning, when she lifted her head and yawned, the air from the tunnel held a distinct chill which tickled her nostrils. She lay still, eyes closed, her focus entirely on scent and touch.
Along with the cold, the outside air had a, a crispness to it. Entirely unlike the softness of the burrow air, warmed and smoothed by seven pairs of lungs over the course of the night. The outside air’s bite made her wrinkle her nose and snuggle more firmly into the leaf bedding.
In this small space (far smaller, she was sure, than when they’d dug it months ago, yearlings freshly shooed from their mother’s nest), it was easy to tell exactly where her siblings were, and how close each was to waking.
Air had nowhere to go - except past her. And so each breath, each shift in position, was carried right to her ears or heralded by a draft pulled from behind her.
The others were stirring slowly this morning. Their instincts, like hers, telling them that today was a poor day for hunting. Better to conserve energy. So they slumbered on, a snug tangle of heads and legs and tails and wings. The long downy threads of their winter feathers made it hard to tell where one dragon ended and the next began.
At the furthest end, the largest of the litter was grumbling softly. Feeling squashed. Another benefit of sleeping by the tunnel was never having to worry about that - though getting nudged out into the tunnel was almost as unfun. Even if you managed to paw bedding out with you.
She lifted her head again and snuffled. Intrigued by the strangeness of the outside air.
Juvenile curiosity, combined with a full gut and empty belly, prompted her to slither into the tunnel and begin the crawl upwards. With each step the crispness was clearer in her nostrils, the burrow-air’s warmth and softness quickly left behind.
She paused again and sniffed.
The dirt walls of the tunnel and burrow had been worn smooth and firm by much passage, and by now little earth-smell was left to obstruct scents from outside. Whatever was in the air, she sensed no danger from it.
So she crept to the mouth of the tunnel and peered out, down the steep embankment to the creek below.
Oh!
The young dragon had never seen snow. Last winter she had still been an egg. This white shining stuff coating the ground was a marvel to her.
She poked her head out of the tunnel, grumbling at the cold, and peered around. Satisfied that there were no larger predators she slithered down the steep slope - right into a pile of snow.
Oh!!
She scrabbled backwards, tail thrashing and wings waggling for balance, and indignantly sneezed off the freezing crystals coating her poor snout.
Hmph.
A more cautious approach left her waddling along on top of the snow drift, paws splayed wide as if she was back in the autumn mud.
Well.
This was interesting!
Particularly when she realised that, in addition to her tracks behind… there were the marks of a much smaller animal winding along next to the creek.
Her forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air around the tracks. Squirrel. Yum, yum!
She paused long enough for a quick drink, then - carefully, and somewhat ungainly - lolloped after the squirrel. Winter was a hungry season for all forest denizens.

Prompt was “Describe the specific atmosphere inside a very small space, like the inside of a tent, a closet, or under a blanket.”