I'm a fox. I have fox fur, a foxy muzzle and a foxy tail. I live in a foxy, dark, yet cozy burrow. Beyond the entrance to my little house is a huge, leafy forest, the borders of which I have never been able to reach, although I have tried more than once. I haven't gone on such escapades for quite some time, however, because it has gotten very cold outside. Just about a month ago, little snow stars started falling from the sky, and during just one night they formed a thick, white cover on the ground, which closed the gates of my house, forcing me to dig up until I reached the surface. I got cold then. I remember that my bones hurt for a few days and I could not stop sneezing. Getting food in such conditions turned out to be a bit more difficult than I thought. When the forest was still splendidly green in spring, summer and autumn, I managed to hunt a few field mice or find some fruit almost every day, but when this winter time came, I was somehow forced to go on a diet. At times, food would not appear for several days. My palette of tastes, which, I admit, was quite sublime when food was in abundance, has recently started to become less and less important. Expecting even colder temperatures than before and more snow, I have accumulated some provisions over the last few days, which allowed me not to leave my burrow on bad weather days.
	Thanks to this prudent action of my yesterday's self, I was able to afford to sleep all morning and not go outside until the afternoon. Near sunset, however, I was disturbed by a sound coming from behind the gate of my relatively warm and isolated apartment. Someone was walking along my path, in front of my house, in my territory. The sound of the footsteps I heard, however, was not the heavy tread of a huge beast, but rather reminded me of the gait of a badger or a raccoon, which meant that the one disturbing me was about my size. After a moment of listening, the stranger's steady footsteps were joined by the sound of teeth chattering, which was understandable considering the fact that it was an exceptionally cold day today, and additionally, inexorably, night was approaching, which meant even worse conditions for staying outside of a warm place like my burrow. In fact, I have to say that I felt sorry for the winter wanderer. "I'll offer him a place to sleep in my cozy domain," - I thought. So I stepped out into the magical, white and to the marrow piercing cold world. Despite the lack of wind, it was very cold and I got goosebumps and huddled a little, trying to keep the remaining warmth on my fur. I stood with my front paws in a powdery mass formed of frozen water particles. I started to listen for the next steps, which were supposed to belong to the snowy amateur traveler, and to look for a scrap of fur, letting me know about his location. I neither heard nor saw anything. Only the whiteness and sounds of the frozen forest. So I spoke up in a tone that encouraged conversation, to let the hider be seen so I could offer him a place to stay warmer than this wilderness, which all it has to offer are leafless trees and frozen ground. No one answered.
	As I began to lose hope after a few minutes and prepare to head back toward my kingdom of comfort, abundance, and lack of snow, a stranger's voice came to my ears. Although he spoke with an unfamiliar accent, I understood most of the words. He said he was lost and did not recognize the area. I felt a little sad, but told him that when the day came, we would surely do something about it. Again I heard footsteps, and behind the sound immediately an image appeared. A fox, similar to me, but with white fur instead of known to me and common in these parts red, was marching among the snowdrifts in the direction of my burrow. I greeted him with a smile and brought the mouse I had caught yesterday, not only as food for the hungry, but also to show that I had no ill intentions. Vulpes, having sat down opposite me consumed my gift with a few snaps of his jaw against the lower part of his jaw. He uttered a few words, I did not understand him, but it seemed to me, from the speech of his tail waving in all directions, that he was thanking me. I invited him inside my burrow to talk to him there. He quickly agreed to this and followed me to the deepest part of my house, where the guest room was located.
	We both lay down on the floor and I began to question him about where he had come from, why his fur color was different from mine and how long he had been wandering in the winter wonderland. He was very kind, first thanking me for my hospitality, and then he began to tell me his story. It turned out that he comes from a place where the winter is much colder and the weather is even more severe. Which is a natural consequence of his white fur, which allows him to hunt much more efficiently during the winter season, which in his home area lasts about eight months. I make no secret of the fact that this came as somewhat of a shock to me. "Eight months?" I repeated in a questioning tone, unable to believe it, while at the same time wondering if my complaining about the three-month period when it snowed in these parts was accidentally exaggerated. He also told me about his family. He had several siblings, and they often got together to hunt and play. When he finished talking about them, his head fell back on his front paws and he was momentarily lost in thought. I concluded that since he was lost, a feeling of longing was understandable. He raised his head and apologized for sowing negativity and implicating me in his problems. I interrupted him as he spoke these words and asked how long he had not seen his loved ones. "A month." - I heard. To lift his spirits I replied - "Now I will leave you to sleep peacefully, and in the morning we will go in search of a way home." Tears flew down the edges of his muzzle and he was unable to say anything more. I left him in his room and marched off to my room.