He struggled through the snow, heart thumping in his head. All around, snow whirled and spun in the air, chased by the angry howling wind. The day had started well enough, and they had reached the summit on time. But the storm had come in earlier than predicted, and three hours after they were supposed to reach camp, he had to admit, that they were quite hopelessly lost.

Panic welled in his throat, and seemed harden into ice, threatening to choke him. He turned around, checking on his comrades. They were hardly standing, just barely alive. Indeed, it had been him that had been dragging them for the past hour. He called out to them, but there was no response. His words were carried away by the wind, and he wasnt even sure they could respond even if they heard him.

He looked around. He was sure that the camp was somewhere around here, even more sure that they had been walking in circles. Visibility was so poor, even if the tent was twenty metres ahead, he wouldnt be able to spot the yellow canvas tent flapping in the wind.

He blinked. Up ahead was a human figure. Female, dressed in white. Her skin was pale, and seemed to blend in with the surroundings. He wasnt even sure if she was there at all. Summoning up the last of his strength, he struggled over to her.

She turned as he approached. Her features were perfect, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and silken.

"Weary traveler, you have come a long way, but you have strayed from your path. Rest now, and continue later"

Her words were comforting and reassuring, he felt at ease at once. His fear melted away, he was sure they were all going to be fine. He checked on his companions again. They were already asleep on the ground, with thin smiles on their faces.

She continued speaking, but he hardly heard her words anymore. His eyelids were getting heavier, the wind seemed to be quieting down. He slumped to the ground. Just a while, to get back my strength, he thought.

A flash of fur caught his eye. He squinted, suddenly aware of some story his mother had told him when he was young. Something important, but he couldnt recall now. Maybe later, when he was rested. He looked again, realizing that it wasnt fur anyway. It seemed more like a piece of yellow, floating in the wind. How ridiculous, he thought. I must be too tired.

"Just the snow, my child. Now rest" She seemed to sing. He couldnt agree more. And his eyes closed for the last time.




Note: This story is hardly original. Click here for part one of The Blizzard. From Akira Kurosawa's Dreams.