"Mom! Mom! There's something weird happening outside!"

With a long sigh, Gale's mother rolled out of bed. She yawned, large ears flattening against her head and gigantic fangs seeming even larger in her open mouth (even though one of them was chipped so badly half of it was missing), and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she followed her son through the den. The two of them lived alone in their burrow, cosy and warm beneath the earth of the Haunted Woods, and wanted for very little. There was plenty of food, Gale had lots of friends, and the gnarled trees and dark canopies kept scary strangers away from their little community. The two of them were happy. But sometimes, living in the Haunted Woods meant strange things would happen to them—and it seemed like today had gifted them with one of those strange things.

"Look, Mom! You see?"

Gale poked his head out through the hole to their burrow, and immediately, the crisp, sharp cold of the Haunted Woods winter prickled at his cheeks. He wrinkled his nose, trying to fight the sting of the cold air, but smiled anyway. He didn't mind the cold, and he always liked wintertime in the Woods anyway, because he and his mother and all their friends would decorate the trees with homemade candles and strings of wooden decorations—a tradition they had learned about from watching other denizens of the Haunted Woods from the safety of the shadows and behind their camouflaged fur.

But right now it was hard to see those candles and decorations, because they were all partially covered in some strange white powder—powder that was falling from the sky and piling up on the ground, hiding everything from sight!

Behind Gale, his mother poked her head out, too. She crowded around him, her warm arms and thick fur a comfort against the cold. Gale looked at her and saw her big yellow eyes widen—and an even bigger smile spread across her face.

"Well, would you look at that!" she exclaimed. "It's snowing!"

"Snow...wing...?" Gale repeated. "What's snow-wing?"

His mother pointed out at the powder falling from the sky. "That's what it's called when snow falls from the sky. Snow is... well." Her paw fell, and she squeezed past Gale to climb out of their burrow-hole. "Why don't you come take a look?"

Hesitantly, Gale poked his head out further. He sniffed at the white sparkly stuff that was on the ground—the "snow." It didn't have much of a smell, or at least one that he was able to explain. It was kind of like burnt water, but that didn't even make any sense. So he touched it, and...

"Brr!" Gale shivered, drawing his paw back quickly. "It's cold!"

"Yes," his mother said. "That's because snow is made up of tiny, little frozen crystals. It's like rain, but instead of making puddles when it falls onto the ground, it makes the whole world even prettier than it was before."

She stepped further away from the burrow. Gale crawled out after her, shuddering as his paws sank deep into the snow—but it wasn't a bad feeling. In fact, it was kind of nice once he got used to it!

"What do you think, son?" his mother asked. "Do you like it?"

"I... I think so," Gale said. "It's cold, but it feels nice. I like the sound it makes when I step on it!" He stomped around a bit, spinning in a circle, just to hear the crunch! under his paws again. "And it is really pretty, even if all the candles are out..."

"We'll have to make covers for them later. The candlelight will make everything even more beautiful." His mother nodded, and looked out at all the trees in their little grove and at the snow covering their branches. A happy look came over her face, just like it did when she'd read stories to Gale at night: a soft smile, with her fur wrinkling at the corners of her eyes.

"I can't believe it's really snowing," she said. "I haven't seen snow in the Haunted Woods since I was even smaller than you, little bug."

"Really?" Gale asked.

"Really." She reached down and picked up a clump of snow, patting it between her big, strong, gentle paws. "We don't get snow here very often because of where the Haunted Woods is, and because of its climate. But when we do, it's something very special."

"Why, Mom?"

"Because it means we get to do... this!"

All of a sudden, the clump of snow in his mother's hands came flying at Gale. With a yelp, he tried to get out of the way—but he wasn't fast enough. It burst on his shoulder, the impact shocking, but not painful.

"Hey!"

"That was called a snowball," his mother said, her smile turning into a grin. "And when two or more Varwolves start throwing them at each other, it's called a snowball fight!"

She quickly ducked down to pick up another clump of snow, but Gale had learned fast. Before his mother could finish making another snowball, Gale's nimble fingers had already formed one, and he tossed it at her with a shrieking laugh. It crashed against his mother's chest, clung to her golden fur and soaked into her pyjamas, but her tail wagged wildly with glee as she tossed one right back at him.

And with that they were off, running and picking up as much snow as they could as quickly as they could, laughing so loudly it brought all the other Varwolves in their community out to play.