by Holly Webb
Sara shook her head. “I was sitting by my window, looking at the snow bear and the igloo,” she murmured.
“What about if I told you another story?” Grandad suggested.
Sara nodded, and then glanced up at him hopefully. “Would you tell it to me in the igloo? I haven’t been in it yet – you finished it, and it looks so beautiful.”
“You don’t mind that I did? I thought it might cheer you up.”
“It has.” Sara leaned her head against his arm. “And it looks perfect for telling stories in.”
Grandad sighed. “It’ll be too cold, Sara! What would your mum say?” He gave her a sudden, worried look, as though he thought he shouldn’t have mentioned her mum. “But I suppose, if we put on our warmest things – and took sleeping bags, and a groundsheet…”
“Yes!” Sara hugged him. “And can we have biscuits? For a midnight feast in the snow?”
Grandad rolled his eyes. “Go on, then. I’ll make some sandwiches as well.”
Sara nudged him. “Prawn sandwiches?” Grandad always had prawn mayonnaise sandwiches – they were his favourite, and now Sara loved them, too.
“Mmm. Go and get me those sleeping bags out of the cupboard under the stairs…”
Sara lay snuggled in her sleeping bag, watching the stars tangled in the snowy branches of Grandad’s apple trees. The igloo wasn’t big enough for Grandad to lie down in, but Sara could, if she curled up a bit. And the wide arch of the entrance framed the sky, perfect for stargazing. Her mum could see those same stars at home, Sara thought, blinking sleepily. Mum loved to sit in their little glass conservatory and look up at the stars, even in winter, when the conservatory was freezing. Sara was suddenly sure that her mum was there at that very moment. She found it really hard to sleep, now that she was so big, and it wasn’t all that late. Only about eleven.
Sara smiled. It was the nicest thought she’d had since Grandad had broken the news.
“What are you smiling about?” Grandad nudged her gently.
“That Mum’s probably watching these stars, too, out of the conservatory roof. Right now.” Sara gave a satisfied little sigh.
Grandad nodded. “You’re probably right. They’re amazing, aren’t they? Always the same. On and on, forever and ever. Or it seems that way to us, at least. I was looking at these same stars with Alignak and Peter, sixty years ago…”
“Tell me the story,” Sara murmured, wriggling closer in her sleeping bag, so that she could lean up against him. “Properly, this time. The way you always start it…”
Grandad wrapped his arms round her. “All right.” He gave a little cough, clearing his throat, like a real storyteller. “Once upon a time, during the Arctic spring, when there was snow and ice all around, and the days were starting to get longer…”
Sara sighed happily, and closed her eyes to listen. That was just right – the proper beginning to the story. Grandad’s voice rumbled, wrapping around her and warming her, the same way his arms did. And the story went on…
Sara blinked sleepily, and gazed out of the arched entrance of the igloo, into the strange, purplish light. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and it was colder than ever. She looked round for Grandad, thinking that he must have fallen asleep, too, but he wasn’t there. Sara struggled up out of her sleeping bag, and pulled her boots back on, meaning to hurry into the house and find him.
But as she sat there, tugging at her boots, Sara realized that everything had changed. She hadn’t slept in the igloo all night – Grandad would never have let her. So how could it be light? Or almost light, anyway. The snow around her igloo was glimmering in the light of an odd, pink-streaked sky, as though it was early morning.
The house was gone. They’d built the igloo facing towards the house, she knew they had. But it wasn’t there any more – and neither was her snow bear. Her boots on at last, Sara crawled out of the igloo and stood up. She stared around, eyes wide.
She wasn’t in Grandad’s garden at all.
Snow stretched around her, for as far as she could see. There were no houses, not even any trees, just mounds and hummocks and mountains of snow, with here and there a patch of rock or scrubby grass showing through. Sara looked back at her igloo. It was definitely still there, and so was her sleeping bag, and the bag of sandwiches and chocolate biscuits. But her snow bear had gone, which just made everything seem even stranger.
She was dreaming. She had to be. But it was strange to be in a dream, and know that it was a dream. Tugging her coat more tightly round her shoulders, Sara stepped out into the snow, shivering a little. It was the coldest dream she had ever been in, too.
She looked around, wondering if there was anyone to talk to, to tell her where she was, and called, “Hello…” She didn’t call very loudly. She felt shy, somehow, shouting into all that whiteness. And only the wind answered her.
Sara took a few steps round the side of the igloo. She had some odd idea that on the other side of the snow house she might find the way home, that there might be a sort of door back to Grandad’s garden. But she forgot all about that when she came round the back of the igloo and found her snow bear.
He was standing now, on all four paws, but he still only came halfway up Sara’s legs. He stared at her uncertainly, with round dark eyes – not green glass any more – and Sara stared back. His eyes had changed, but it was her bear. She knew it. She knew him.
He was real – soft and furry. She wanted desperately to stroke him, he looked so like her cuddly polar bears back home. But this was a real bear now, a wild bear. Sara shook her head, wondering how this could possibly have happened. Then she smiled to herself. She didn’t understand it at all, but she’d heard so many of Grandad’s stories, and wished and wished she could see the places he talked about. And now she was in the Arctic!
The cub was looking at her, as though he didn’t know what she was, Sara thought. He might never have seen a human before. She looked round anxiously. The bear cub was only small – she wasn’t really sure how old – but she guessed he was probably only a few months. So he shouldn’t be on his own. Somewhere close by, there would be an enormous mother polar bear, looking for her baby.
Even though Sara thought polar bears were lovely, she knew how fierce they could be. She watched nature programmes about bears, and she had books about them, and Grandad had told her loads of stories. They lived mostly by hunting seals, but polar bears could hurt people, too, when they found hunters on their own, or if they thought humans were attacking their cubs. Her little igloo wouldn’t be much protection against an angry polar bear.
Sara started to back away slowly, wondering where the mother bear was. She thought it was probably better not to run – polar bears were much faster than people, she was sure. But the polar bear cub gazed after her anxiously, and then took a couple of little steps towards her.
Sara stopped, biting her lip. Was he lost? She was sure that a cub wouldn’t usually be away from his mother like this.
The cub ventured closer and gave a whine, a tiny noise that sounded more like a puppy than anything Sara had expected from a bear. She couldn’t leave him, she realized. He was too little, and he was scared. She had to help him, somehow. Which was silly, because she thought he probably knew a lot more about surviving in the Arctic than she did.
“Do you need me to help you find your mother?” she said gently, coming a bit closer.
The bear looked up at her hopefully, and she sighed. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t even know where I am, actually. But that must be why I’m here, in this dream, if that’s what it is. To take you home.”
Sara walked slowly and carefully back to the igloo. The little bear looked hungry, she thought, and she had her sandwiches. She had a feeling he was too young to be eating mostly seal-meat, like an adult bear. He was still supposed to be feeding from his mother. But in the Arctic cold, he needed to be fed, even if that meant eating prawn sandwiches. Otherwise he wouldn’t have the strength to go far.
“Bet you’ve never had anything like this,” Sara muttered, undoing the foil Grandad had wrapped round the sandwiches. “I suppose it’s lucky they’re prawn. I shouldn’t think you’d like cheese and ketchup – that’s my other favourite.”
Even though the bear surely hadn’t heard the crinkle of silver foil before, he seemed to know at once that it meant food. He padded over the snow towards Sara, and stopped just a step away, looking hopefully from Sara to the foil packet and back again.
Sara laughed, and then felt guilty as he skittered away. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” she whispered. “Yes, they’re for you, that’s why I opened them. Come on, come and try. You’ll like it. Prawns are yummy.”
The bear sniffed hopefully, and looked around, as though he thought he probably shouldn’t be doing this, and his mum might suddenly turn up and tell him off. But when Sara tore off a little piece of sandwich and held it out, he couldn’t resist. He snatched it out of her fingers, and gulped it down greedily. Then he came closer, looking for more.
“I told you you’d like it,” Sara murmured, feeling pleased. “You’d better not have too much, you’re not used to this kind of food. Oh…”
The bear didn’t agree. He barged close in to Sara, nudging eagerly at the packet, and rootling around in the foil.
“OK, OK. You’re really hungry. I know. Here, look, have some more.” Sara looked at him worriedly as he gobbled the sandwiches. “I wonder how long you’ve been on your own. You’re still lovely and plump, you can’t have been hungry for all that long…”
Gently, while he was still eating, she slipped off one glove and stroked the back of his neck. She was prepared to pull her hand back quickly in case he didn’t like it, but he didn’t seem to mind. He just glanced at her quickly, checking what she was doing, and then went back to the food.
“We’d better find your mother fast,” Sara said, sitting down and rubbing the soft folds of fur round his neck. “I’ve just got Grandad’s sandwiches now, and after that it’s only chocolate biscuits left. I don’t think I can give you those, I should think they’re really bad for you. I know chocolate’s bad for dogs. I bet it’s not good for bears, either.” She shivered. She shouldn’t have taken her glove off, but she’d so wanted to feel his fur. Her hand was aching with the cold now, and she felt shivery.
She put the glove back on, and carefully patted the bear, rubbing behind his ears and tickling him under the chin, like she tried to do with Iknik. The bear was a lot friendlier, especially now that she’d fed him. He licked all round his jaws – Sara got a glimpse of his teeth, which were quite big, even though he wasn’t – and he sniffed her gloves, to see if she was bringing more food.
“I need to give you a name,” Sara said thoughtfully. “I can’t just call you bear.” She ran her hand over his domed white head, and the bear nuzzled at her wrist. “Oh! Of course.” She smiled. “I’ll call you Peter. Like Grandad’s bear.” She shook her head, suddenly confused. “Maybe you are Grandad’s bear? Maybe I’m taking you back to your mother, so the boys don’t have to leave you on the sea-ice at the end of the summer?” Sara frowned. “But that would be silly. How can I be inside Grandad’s story? And it’s not a dream, I’m sure it’s not. You’re real. I can feel you. You can’t feel things the same way in dreams…”
She stood up, looking around anxiously. How was she going to find a white bear in all this snow? “Maybe you can find her,” she suggested to Peter. “Polar bears hunt by smell, I’m sure I read that. Can you follow your mother’s scent? Can you track her? Or maybe you’re just too little.”
Peter stood next to her, quite close, his soft head almost resting on the side of her coat, so that she could feel the warmth of him. He seemed to be waiting for her to tell him what to do, Sara thought. He was used to following his mother.
“I wish we had some idea where to go,” Sara muttered. “What if I head in the wrong direction, and just take you further away from her?”
Peter put his nose down, and snuffled thoughtfully at the snow, looking up at Sara with dark, sparkling eyes.
“What is it?” She bent down to look, and took in a quick, excited breath. “Tracks! Aren’t you clever?” The tracks were hard to see – she’d never have spotted them herself – but they were definitely there. And they were too big to be Peter’s own paw prints – they were fat heavy pads pressed into the loose snow, setting off across the whiteness, like a trail to follow. “She must have lost you, somehow, and gone off looking for you. We just have to catch her up,” Sara said firmly. She picked up the little bag of sandwiches and biscuits, and started to follow the prints of the big-footed bear, leading the cub out into the snow.
Sara and the bear followed the tracks. It was a strange way to walk, eyes down, peering at the faint paw prints. Every so often, they seemed to fade away, as though fresh snow had fallen over them, and Sara was worried that they would lose the trail. But each time, Peter would sniff around, and come across the tracks again.
Sara huddled the hood of her coat up round her ears, wishing she’d put more sweaters on underneath. She’d thought it was cold at Grandad’s, but it was nothing like this. She pressed closer to the bear cub, feeling the warmth of his fur under her gloved hand as they walked on.
The white landscape was very quiet, and at first Sara thought it was empty. But then Peter stopped in surprise as a white creature raced over the snow in front of them, stopped for a second to look, and dashed away as the bear cub made a strange, cross grunting sound.
Sara gazed after it, trying to see what it was as it skipped from patches of snow to the darker tundra that was showing through. It looked like a fat, old-fashioned powder puff, with a pair of long, dark-tipped ears. “An Arctic hare,” Sara murmured, as it disappeared into the distance. The dark eyes and nose looked like pebbles against the snow, and the hare blurred as it ran – its camouflage was perfect. She remembered seeing a photo of a hare in one of the books she’d read about polar bears. But there hardly seemed to be enough green stuff around for it to eat. Just mossy patches here and there.
“It would help if you could eat this, too,” she said to Peter, crouching down to look at the yellowish lichen. “I think I’d better save the second lot of sandwiches a bit longer, just in case.”
The polar bear cub sniffed at the lichen, and looked up at her so disgustedly that she had to laugh. “I don’t think I’d like it, either,” she admitted. Then she shivered again. Was it really growing colder? She wasn’t certain what time of year it was here – she was pretty sure the Arctic would be completely covered in snow in winter, which meant this had to be spring or summer. But it was so cold, and it was starting to snow again, she realized in dismay, watching the snowflakes start to float gently down. They were so pretty and delicate – but there were so many of them, and they were falling faster and faster. Sara took a sudden tight grip on Peter’s fur. She could hardly see him now, a white bear in a white whirling snowstorm.
“It’s a blizzard,” she whispered, the cold stealing her voice away. “We can’t stay out in this. We’ll freeze…”
Peter tugged at her hand, and she gasped, frightened that he’d run off, and she would lose him. But he looked back up at her, his dark eyes glinting among the snowflakes. He wanted her to follow him.
Step by step, half blind, Sara followed the little bear to a strange cave, a dark hole in a snowdrift that appeared suddenly out of the storm. Peter dived inside and then turned round, seizing Sara’s coat in his sharp little teeth, and dragging her after him. Sitting down inside the earthy burrow, away from the biting wind, Sara gasped, trying to catch her breath. The cold seemed to have frozen her lungs. Peter snuggled up next to her and sniffed hopefully at the bag of sandwiches. Sara fumbled at it, and tore off a little piece of sandwich for herself, feeding the rest to the bear cub. Then Peter curled up half across her lap and nudged her lovingly, before he fell asleep.
Sara stared out at the dark snowstorm, wondering what they were going to do now. Perha
ps another of these sudden blizzards had blown up before, and that was how Peter had been separated from his mother.
The cub sighed in his sleep, and Sara stroked his white fur – he was nearly as fluffy as that powder-puff of a hare. He was so young, and he trusted her. She had to get him back to his mother. But as Sara gazed out into the storm, she knew that all his mother’s footprints would have been covered long ago…
Sara fell asleep too, eventually – the flickering fall of the snowflakes was hard to watch without her eyelids starting to close. When she woke up, it had stopped snowing, and the landscape stretched out into whiteness in front of her.
Peter woke, wriggling, and bounced over to the little tunnel’s entrance hole, peering out at the snow eagerly. Maybe he was hoping to see his mother, Sara thought sadly, watching him stick his head out.
She blinked, suddenly realizing where they must be. This was a maternity den, where a mother polar bear had hidden herself over the winter, digging down through a snowdrift to the earth below, to make a safe nest for herself and her babies. It was probably where Peter had been born. He must have sniffed it out, catching his mother’s scent in the storm. Maybe he’d been making for the den when Sara found him.
Sara followed him out into the snow, looking around hopefully for the paw prints. She knew they must have been covered up, but still… Peter sniffed at the fresh snow, looking up at her in confusion.
“I know,” Sara murmured. “We’ll just have to find your mother another way. It’ll be all right.”
The little bear ran off into the snow, kicking up the fresh powder with his claws, and squeaking. Sara giggled. Even though she was worried, she couldn’t not laugh – he was so funny, dancing about in the snow. He didn’t seem to feel the cold as much as she did. His fur was perfectly designed for the Arctic weather, Sara thought to herself. She couldn’t even feel her fingers properly any more. She shook her head, as if it might help her feel less dopey with the cold.