Winter hit hard. In the month since the revelation, I'd found a bigger, warmer cave, wove a sturdy basket and a door screen out of thin branches, wove a mattress out of reeds and stuffed it with more, but the thing I'm most proud of, is the bow. I discovered I could split the reeds along their length to form threads and a few of them twisted together made a string so strong, I could swing from it. It took a bit of trial and error to find wood that was both strong and flexible enough to withstand the pressure of the string being drawn, but I did it. I made a weapon my dad would be proud of. Okay, proud might be a little exaggerated, he was a hard man to please and the bow was crude at best, the arrows even more so – I filed sticks, almost the length of my arm, into a point using the abrasive, volcanic rock walls of the cave.

I woke before sunrise to absolute silence – it's weird how you don't notice small sounds like the hiss of steam or rustling leaves until they aren't there anymore. Curious, I eased the door aside to find snow blanketing the ground. Reluctant to go out while it in fell in thick flakes, I sat in the doorway shivering until the call of nature threatened to burst my bladder. I lowered myself from the ledge, sinking up to mid calf – not yet deep enough to cover my boots – and made a dash for the shelter of the nearest tree to relieve myself. Flakes stung my bare arms and thighs, so cold they burned.

After about a week, I realised just how badly I'd underestimated how long my supplies would last in the warmth of the cave. I placed my last couple of baskets of fruit outside, hoping the cold would preserve them.

What I didn't foresee was a little, five-tailed fox raiding the store.

Rushing outside at the sound of cracking wood, I was too late to stop him getting into the first basket. Shouting at him didn't work. I threw a snowball at him and he raised his head and looked at me briefly. Frustrated, I fetched my bow and took aim. He looked up again, then sauntered off to stand at the tree line where he promptly sat and alternately stared between me and the food. I could see him shivering, his big eyes pleading with me.

I knew that hunger. The primal need for sustenance could drive anyone to make mistakes that could cost a life. Perhaps it was my own loneliness that prompted me to leave a trail of food in my wake when I rescued the basket, and hide behind the door waiting to see if he was still hungry enough to take the bait.

I didn't have to wait long. The soft crunch of his bounding footsteps grew closer, each set interspersed with slurps and wet tongue smacks every time he licked his lips. He looked right at me as he entered the cave, and ignored me in favour of the last piece of visible food. The door slid home, scraping his nose as he tried to bolt through the narrowing gap.

We both froze in the darkness, each waiting for the other to make a move.

I shifted my weight, scuffing a boot on the floor as I stretched one leg to alleviate a spasm of cramp starting in my calf. The little fox's tails lit up, flames replacing the fur along the lengths. I gasped in shock. He growled, exposing toothless gums.

"You're just a pup!" I laughed. "Such a brave little thing, you are. And so fierce for something no bigger than my foot."

He spun at the sound, pointing his backside at me with his flaming tails fanned in a semicircle.

Giggling, I moved to the back of the cave and made myself comfortable. To my surprise, my little fireyfox followed me and lay by my feet. His tails continued to glow, though they dimmed somewhat and no longer flamed as he tucked them beneath his chin.

"You'd better tell me your name, it'll get a bit embarrassing if I have to call you "Thingy"all night!" I said softly.

A couple of sparks emanated in response.

"Sparky it is."