The line of trees has begun to take shape now, the girl can see that they are taller than she imagined, sturdy, thick branches reaching into the dark sky like claws. They seem somehow foreboding and comforting at the same time. The chill in the air is deadly now and even though she knows it can’t harm her (how does she know that?) it leaves her breath ragged, makes her body ache that much sharper.

Her back hunches against the biting wind and her vision swims; her fingers grasp at her shawl with a numb, tingling grip. Her white hair whips into her eyes over and over and she has to shake her head so it blows free and then she sees it…

A lone, ghostly pale figure at the tree line. She can see the trunks of trees through its body, it wears ragged, torn up clothes that don’t blow in the wind, and it seems to fade in and out of sight or realness. The girl stumbles and coughs, it feels like her lungs are torn. Her hands hit the ice and it burns, and when she looks, there’s more blood on the snow and she can taste it in her mouth.

No.. I have to go on.. I have to… but she can’t remember what she has to do. She sobs. Frozen tears crackle on her cheeks. Something about the pale figure won’t leave her thoughts. I have to help them. The thought hits with startling clarity. Yes. Yes, that’s what she must do. She must help them. 

Ignoring the pestering questions of why or how, she crawls towards the pale figure vanishing deeper into the trees, her weak plea to “Wait.. wait!” lost in the wind.