A dark figure leapt soundlessly from tree to tree, checking each one thoroughly. It was January, the first of the barren months of winter, where the ice consumed everything, not leaving even a scrap for a hunter. She hated this time of year. The forest dwellers were tucked away in their hidden burrows, sleeping soundly through the winter. The bird Pokemon, her primary source of prey, had migrated, fleeing the bitter cold. Even the berries she so disliked no longer hung from the trees - all eaten, all lost, all frozen solid.
Needless to say, these were harsh times. The Sneasel had not eaten for a solid week, and her stomach ached in protest w