The cold held her in its icy embrace. She was buried underneath the remnants of her extensive labour, but when she opened her eyes, light cracked the darkness. In her fallen, muffled world, all she could hear was the thrumming fury in her chest and in her ears. She couldn’t move her limbs— her arms were spread and she lay as though crucified on this hillside. The heat of her skin melted the snow that had been forced into her jacket during the battle. Rivulets of water creeped down her neck, hitting nerves that sent chills shaking up her spine. She knew what they thought of her; she was too small, too weak, too stupid. They had always ensured that she did not forget her flaws, not for a second, lest she think herself worthy of their respect. It was necessary to exclude her, they had reasoned. She would endanger their mighty mission with her foolish nature. She would weep at the first sign of adversity, they said. She would break the things she didn’t understand. So she built her own world, away from theirs. Built it for people like herself, who weren’t enough for people like her brothers. They didn’t like that much. The attack had been sudden and unprovoked— her allies were quickly driven away by the violence. She didn’t blame them. They hadn’t signed up for a war. But she had no intention of leaving her sanctuary to the pigs that she called family. Losing the battle was inevitable, but part of her had still hoped they were humane enough to be satisfied with her defeat— a silly, childish notion that was thoroughly proved wrong. They destroyed everything she had built and left her buried in the snow. Maybe she was small and stupid, but she wasn’t weak. They would regret this. She rocked herself up into a sitting position, then climbed to her feet, brushing the snow off of her snowsuit. Not a single wall of her fort remained; their supply of snowballs had been stolen, and their snowman had been decapitated. Poor SnowPaul— he, more than anyone else, was an innocent. She waddled forward to the bush behind which she had hid her sled. For the first time in minutes, she smiled. They hadn’t found her backup supply. She always had a backup supply. 
Each snowball was perfectly round and tightly packed. These were a good start — it had become clear that a stationary base would inevitably draw the full force of their attack. She would have to create small stashes around the park so she could keep moving. She pulled off her mitten, letting it hang from her sleeve by its string, and wiped the last of the snow off of her face. She would fight. She would win. They would see that she was their equal. And if they didn’t, she would tell her mom.