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Cubchoo laid his head on the ground. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open; his fur puffed out, his body curled in. Whimpers breezed out from his constant panting.

His mother knelt by him, gently stroking him with her oversized paws. Her cub's body was hot, and his nasal mucus had been altogether absent for hours. His mother knew of fevers, colds and bellyache, but when all the symptoms were combined in one cub she knew nothing.
It was not safe for her cub to be on the bare ice like this. She needed to make shelter.

Her claws glowed white, and she rapidly clawed at the ice. Cold chips were pared and flung away as the pit was excavated. It was shallow, but the depth was sufficient; Cubchoo was smaller than her, after all. But what if he was uncomfortable on the hard, bare ice? That might make his illness worse.

She nuzzled her cub, reassuring him and silently indicating to him that she would be back soon. She then loped away and to the sea. She was anxious to be leaving him even for so short a time; he seemed so severely sick that he probably could not defend himself from any marauding Crystowl.

She dived, paddling towards a sheath of waving seaweed. With a slash of bright claws, it was severed from its holdfast. She gripped the seaweed in her mouth as she surfaced.

Swaddling him in seaweed had no immediate effect---aside from making his ailing frown a little less pained---but she did not expect it to. She supposed an illness like this would need time to weather. But did her cub have enough time?

Weather...that was it! It was springtime,