The winter went on. Sometimes it became milder, but then the snow would come again, and each time it did it lay higher on the ground so that it was impossible to scrape it away. Worst of all was when it became warm enough for it to thaw, and then the snow that had melted into water would freeze when the night came. Then there would be a thin layer of ice which you could easily slip on. It would also often break, so that the sharp splinters would cut the deers’ tender fetlocks, cut them bloody. But now there was a hard frost which had lasted for days. The air was clean and thin such as it never had been before and the frost was full of strength. It began to tinkle with a sound that was fine and high. It was so cold that the air sang.
Everything was quiet in the forest, but something shocking happened every day. One time, the crows attacked the hare’s little son, who was already lying down ill, and killed him in a gruesome way. His cries of pain were long and pitiful and could be heard by all. Bambi’s friend, the hare, was away at the time but when he heard the sad news he could not contain himself. Another time, the squirrel was running around with a serious wound on his neck from where the polecat had bitten him. By some miracle the squirrel had been able to get away from him. He could not speak because of the pain but he ran between all the twigs and branches. Everyone could see it. He ran like a madman. From time to time he would stop, sit down, raise his forepaws in confusion, take hold of his head in his shock and his suffering, and as he did so his blood gushed over his white breast and turned it red. He ran around like this for an hour, then he suddenly collapsed, fell hard against the branches of the tree and fell, dying, into the snow. A pair of magpies immediately came down on him and began their feasting. There was also the time when the fox attacked the pheasant and tore him to bits, even though everyone liked and respected the pheasant for his beauty and his strength. His death was a cause for concern far and wide, and everyone felt sorry for his inconsolable widow. The fox had snatched the pheasant out of the snow he had settled in and where he thought he was well hidden. No-one could feel safe any more, as all these things happened in broad daylight. It seemed that the penury they were suffering would never come to an end, and it spread bitterness and ruthlessness all around. It made all experience worthless, it undermined the conscience, destroyed all trust and all good manners. There was no mercy any more, no peace, no holding back.
“It’s impossible even to think that it might ever get any better,” Bambi’s mother sighed.
Auntie Ena sighed too. “And it’s impossible to think that it ever was any better.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Marena looking straight ahead. “I think about how lovely it used to be all the time!”
“Listen,” Mrs. Nettla said to Auntie Ena. “Your little one is shivering, isn’t he!” And she pointed to Gobo. “Does he always shiver like that?”
“Sad to say,” answered Auntie Ena, somewhat worried, “he’s been shivering like that for several days now.”
“Well then,” said Mrs. Nettla in the open way she had of saying things, “I’m only glad I haven’t got any children any more. If he was my little one I’d be worried about whether he gets through the winter.”
Gobo indeed did not look well. He was weak, he had always been less strong than Bambi or Faline and had not grown as fast as those two. But now, he looked worse from day to day. He could not keep his food down, what little there was of it now. He was in continual pain. So, with the cold and the difficulties of life, he had lost all of what strength he had. He shivered all the time and could barely hold himself upright. Everyone looked at him with concern.
Mrs. Nettla went to him and gave him a friendly push in the side. “Now don’t you be sad,” she told him sternly. “That’s not right for a young prince and it’s bad for your health.” She moved away from him because she did not want anyone to see how concerned she was.