Autumn gives its last silent cough and winter takes its first step. People takes winter is a deadly beauty – it gives and takes. But in a certain case, in a certain time it became an assassin's mentor. It became a giver of a miracle. On the first day of winter, the dark forest had a blizzard. And in the heart of it was a still-blind mouse. Barely a day old, in fact, it was already attempting to crawl across the deep snow. Weakly it made for a cave created by a rock formation. With a gasp I pulled itself into the cave and curled tightly into a ball.
The young mouse howled despairingly, blood-stained paws tucked in. Its blood-red eyes suddenly burst open. Perhaps due to pure willpower that its eyes had opened prematurely, but the outcome would have a devastating effect in the future. Nevertheless, its eyes could see, though they were reduced to slits. A huge advantage or rather, a current gain for a loss that would come. The first colour the mouse saw was crimson red, the blood flowing through a huge gash at its left paw. That was the colour that drove the mouse on in his life, and the colour he would encounter more later. For now he had much-needed rest.
Not for long.
A lone shadow crept across the façade, and for some reason the mouse knew it was there. HE was there, it corrected. Judging its distance with a wit far greater than expected it, the mouse crounched down and waited. He was the target, it realized, so he must play its game well at least.
The male adult mouse came in a flurry, the knife (crimson again, it stated) striking the snow next to me. For some reason the bitter cold tore its left eyes open and it leaped.
With clumsiness (in spite of its graceful dumb-luck jump) it hobbled to a sight and lunged forward. The adult mouse seized the chance to slice a strip of its target's ear off – yet after enduring the sheer cold this was nothing was crimson. It grabbed the knife, turned slowly and stabbed it into its attacker's chest. Spluttering its assassin jabbed it repeatedly. It let its now-victim do it.
It knew the mouse would bleed to death.
Calculations would become a part of its complex mind but for now it thought of death. Its counterpart writhed, gave up and relaxed. The pool of crimson blood was spreading outside the cave, it noted. That could be gotten rid of soon. Afterwards it required a scout of the area and conditions. The mouse began to form a plan of what to do – something a normal mouse would do in 30 days. At 1 day it understood the ruthless world and its requirements to survive. Failure was unacceptable. Wiping its cut (and wincing) with fresh snow it used the knife to "force" the blood out. With a satisfied nod it dragged the dead mouse to a side, piling it up with dry twigs. Burial. Its instinct instructed. With untrained accuracy it needed a lot of tries to completely bury (yes, bury, it registered, following its instinct) the mouse. Finally it formed a make-shift shovel and grinded out the crimson snow carefully, leaving it a good distance from the cave.
Done! The young mouse was about to drift into sleep when its left eye spotted something sticking out of the snow. Curiously it dug it out. It featured a...an unknown object with...symbols? It stared at the object's first side. It has the crimson colour with a word next to it. Hmm...there's alphabets! The mouse, somehow, jolted another instinct of understanding. Peering curiously, it thought a while and mumbled.
A week later
The mouse celebrated (with acorns) his 1-week-and-1-day anniversary with a feast or what it seemed like. Smiling it flipped open the book (yes, I remembered!)and said fluently, "Killer – someone who causes a living thing to die by intentional methods. Instinct – a force which comes naturally that drives a living thing to do something."
He grinned, reached out a paw and wrote two words in the snow.