He had woken up near the crack of dawn. Although it was still cold inside the igloo, it was much better than being outside in the raging winds. His hands and feet were still stiff, but they were no longer they frozen and monstrous looking things they were before. The fierce howling of the mind made him worry for a moment that his roughly made igloo would collapse. This was no good. He couldn't just hide inside and hope things will get better. He sat and rubbed himself and his hands together for a few minutes, occasionally breathing deeply between his hands to gather it's warmth before crawling out his icy home.

He started to work on thickening the walls and making it more smooth. It went much more easily now that he had daylight and the proper use of his hands. What took him hours of struggling to complete yesterday, he did in one half of the time with twice the quality of work. The walls were now thicker with a smooth dome shape, the entrance elongated to better prevent the wind from entering, and he had gathered some sticks so he could attempt to make a fire. the sun was probably at its midway point judging by how bright it was, although he still couldn't see the sky with the ongoing blizzard.

He had to hurry. There was no guessing when something might come sniffing around. There was so much to do and prepare if he was to survive. He also needed something to protect himself. A tool. A weapon of sorts.

He stumbled around and had managed to find a couple of palm-sized rocks perfect for his purposes. They fit well within his hands and they had a sharp edge.

He had dug out the snow from within his igloo until he could see the forest's ground. Placed the rocks around in a circle to make a campfire. Nico seemed to have caught his lucky break because the rocks he had gathered produced sparks when he clashed them together. 

He had broken off low hanging twigs from the surrounding trees, but he was worried it wouldn't be enough. Crawling back out he went to search for some more things he could burn. He didn't have much hope for dry wood in the middle of a blizzard, but one can hope. The snow had really piled up during his sleep because where it was only up to his ankles last night it was now up to his calves in some places.

It took a long time of searching but he had found a fallen horizontal tree. Its underside seemed snow free and it had covered the ground under it from the snow. He shoved the dried leaves and twigs in his sleeves as makeshift pockets and he used a particularly sharp rock to cut away at the underside of the trunk. His whole frame shook with the rebound force, but he didn't stop slamming away at the trunk, chipping away at it bit by bit. Once it was a few inches deep he pried off a section and tore it off with his hands. It was only a small chunk smaller than his forearm, but it was relatively dry and exactly what he needed.

He heard something. With a start, he stiffens up and dropped everything to his feet. He didn't dare move. His heart hammered in his chest as if it was trying to break free and escape by itself. His breath came shallow as sweat dripped down his brows disregarding the cold. 

He slowly turned around with a shaky movement.

There was nothing there. No wolves ready to rip his throat out, no monster lurking in the shadows. It was just a pile of snow that fell down from a tree. He let out a few tense barks of laughter. Relief and shame flooded him. He was alive. He was safe for now. And he was absolutely fucking pathetic. With a self-mocking smile on his face, he went back to work.

He ducked underneath the trunk and clawed around. Blindly reaching around the undergrowth he found some small sticky bits with cobwebs and what assumes was amber. He faintly recalled them both to burn pretty well.

With his arms full he slowly trudged back to his home. He had gone out for another three trips because he wanted to gather enough to last him until morning and before it was too dark out. He didn't see even a shadow of another creature thankfully enough, not that he could see much more than blinding white after a few feet. Yet, he still hurried along with quick steps. He wanted to be inside and away from open spaces as soon as possible.

The newly expanded igloo was around 7 feet wide and 5 feet high. More than enough room for him if he laid on his sides or stayed low. Its walls were a thick 4 inches and it kept the entire thing well insulated. He took a sharp rock and carved away at a particularly thick branch he had gotten. Thing and wispy strands of wood started to form along with a small pile of sawdust he carefully protected from the wind. It was a mere handful, but it could mean the difference between life and death if he could get the fire going.

He made a small pile of dead leaves, fine strands of wood, sawdust, and cobwebs before striking his rocks above it. Harsh clangs echoed out repeated it as he tried his best to get the spark to land on the pile. The sounds of clashing rocks echoed through his igloo, his focus so intent that even the harsh howling of the winds was blocked out. 

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Yet, even by the time his arms ached, he had nothing to show for it. Anger and frustration were beginning to set in. How did those people on survival channels make it look so easy?!

He was at his boiling point. He was wet, cold, and miserable. With rage fuelling his action slammed the stupid rocks together with all his might. It was so strong that some fragments of it broke off, yet by some miracle, it was enough to give him a small ember. 

Overjoyed he quickly tossed the rocks to the side and tended to it. He gently waved his hands over it to feed it oxygen, when he saw it begin to smoke, he gently used a stick to cover it with some more sawdust. It slowly grew and he nurtured it as if it was a premature infant. His care and effort paid off as it soon turned into a small flame.

He let out a small laugh in triumph, tears pooled in his eyes as he watched the pitiful thing. It was small, barely bigger than a candle's worth, but it was stable and growing. It gave him a sense of hope in this wretched icy world of white.

He slowly snapped some twigs into finger-sized bits and fed it to the fire. He had poked small holes for the smoke to go out of in the top of the igloo and gathered the rocks in a circle around it.

It was a long day's of hard work, but he felt more content. The warmth of the fire, the thick and smooth walls of the igloo. He almost felt like he was on a camping trip with his friends if one could ignore the two dead wolves in the back anyway.

He stared at the fire in silence. There was just something...mesmerizing about the way the flames danced. It seemed so cheerful, like a small child playing, it flickered around the branches and leaves. A curious child that wanted to touch everything. For the first time since his arrival, he went a sense of safety and contentment. 

He could now relax a bit.

That was a mistake.

As soon as he let his guard down, loosen his tension, the weight of his situation came crashing down on him as if Atlas holding up the world. When there was no work to be done, no urgent task to consume his attention and thoughts he was left with his thoughts. Give time to process his situation.

He was alone. Everyone and everything he loved was ripped away from him. His home, his friends and family, his dream of the future. That was his situation and his life now. Maybe forever. He didn't even know if there was anything out there besides things trying to eat him.

Everything was gone.

He felt tears build up once more in his eyes, yet he didn't let them fall this time. Nico was done crying. Sitting and crying never changed anything. No, he needed something else, something less passive. Anger. It was anger that drove people to action. To move forward. He roughly rubbed his face before turning bloodshot eyes towards a target of his hatred. He couldn't touch the Gods who had cursed him so, but he could very well vent on the wolves who had ripped him away.

He grabbed one of his particularly well-formed rock before grinding at it with another, slowly sharpening the edge. It was rough and crude work, but he ended up with a sturdy stone knife. He tested the blade on his finger and was satisfied when it easily split the skin. 

He gently ran the knife over the wolf's abdomen, splitting it right down the middle and taking care not to puncture into flesh. He wanted to skin and make something out of its pelt. It was surprisingly easy to do, as despite it's thick fur, the skin was thin. He even started humming as if he was in an art or cooking class.

It took some time, but he had managed to get a halfway decent pelt, it wasn't the prettiest thing as even without putting his shoddy skills into consideration it was covered in blood and there were holes in it from broken bones piercing through. It was from the wolf he had killed before dying. Still, it was relatively intact and would serve him well.

Now, came the hard part. Carefully he pushed his knife in its chest cavity and cut it open in half. It was tough as the muscles had hardened in the cold, but he eventually managed. He was careful to remove the organs without spilling their content. Stomach, bladder, all the good stuff.

He could've probably saved some such as the heart and liver for consumption, but it wasn't worth it in his mind. Not only was it gross, but he heard that eating polar bear liver could kill you. An overdose on the high amounts of vitamin A found within. 

He didn't know if it applied to wolfs, but he wasn't going to chance it. He dug a pit in the back of the igloo and buried it. He didn't want to toss it outside and risk attracting wild animals. It was also why he didn't bleed out the thing before. Hopefully, the combination of wind, snow, and dirt will be enough to mask the scent inside his home.

He separated the thing into pieces and then buried in the snow, keeping everything from smelling bloody and as a freezer to preserve it. He sliced out thin sections of meat only an inch or two thick and placed them upon a large flat stone near the fire to cook. With how thin they are they cooked quickly and he soon ended up with well-cooked wolf briskets. The smell was absolutely amazing considering how he hadn't eaten in days. He washed his hands roughly in the snow to prepare for his dinner.

He carefully grabbed some, blew on it lightly, and shoved them in his mouth. It was a bit tough and bland as he didn't have seasoning, yet the wonderful fat and juices filled his mouth with delight. It was similar to poke in a way, except more lean. He let out a sigh of content as he slowly enjoyed his meal and roasted what must've been a few pounds of meat.

His appetite was voracious and he had to admit, if only to himself, that the act of devouring what had caused him so much fear and pain was immensely satisfying and therapeutic.

He carefully stuck some more branches in the fire until he was confident they were enough to last him until morning. He cupped a handful of snow until it started melting and drank it heartily. 

It was with a full stomach and a warm fire that he went to sleep on a bloodied wolf pelt.