Ploughing through the snow, I forced my shivering body forward, cursing the deep rut I leave in my wake. Not only would they follow me, but I was clearing the path for them. At least the snow was falling thick—bah! and burying me alive. Yet, it might keep them awhile. If they found my tracks, I was done for, but only if they found them. They might not, not in this storm. They might have to wait until morning. By then, I can be long gone, I hope. Long gone, or they might find me still, a frozen corpse.
I Once Was Warm
Tale Told 