When it started snowing, the man was just under halfway to where he was set to meet with his good friends. Watching the snowflakes flutter in front of him, he slowed his pace, coming to a stop. His breath was visible in the air, dancing for a second before disappearing.

After a flake landed and melted on one of his cheeks, he adjusted his scarf to cover more of his face. His gloves made it difficult to properly grip the cloth, but he managed to stretch it over his nose. As he did so, he picked a random flake and eyed it as it fell to the ground.

The trail the man stood on was fairly even, but that was from use, not intention. It was a place to walk in a public forest, but smoothing out the trail—actually ensuring it was level and free of rocks or exposed roots—had never been anyone’s priority. Around it, the forest was even rougher with thicker roots, vines, or fallen branches no one had bothered to remove, which all worked together to create a forest floor with small hills of obstacles.

The trees stretched upward without leaves, promising no protection from the snow. The only splashes of color were leaves on the ground leftover from fall and the occasional cardinal offering a dot of red in the bare trees. As best the man could tell, those birds watched him silently.

A few birds he couldn’t see chirped, and sometimes he heard the rustling of dry leaves, but otherwise it was quiet. Even the light breeze was not whistling. The cloud cover meant there was no real sun, and the man thought it seemed like everything would rather be asleep.

It was cold, but the man had known that before he’d started this hike. He wore a hat that covered his ears, and it was thick enough to stop him from feeling the snow that was gathering on the cloth instead of melting. His coat didn’t have a hood, but it had a high collar that supplemented his scarf. More importantly, the outside of his coat was made of water-resistant fabric that blocked the wind. Now, it would keep him dry even if the snow got heavier.

Over his jeans, he wore a pair of pants made of the same material as his coat, serving the same purpose. The pants were thinner, though, since they lacked the coat’s inner lining. Despite this difference, both the pants and the coat were red mixed with black accents; they were a winter athletic set he’d gotten so long ago he couldn’t remember how much he’d paid for them.

In contrast, the man’s gloves weren’t waterproof, so he needed to protect them from the falling snow. Since the two zipper pockets on his pants were closed, the man opted to put his hands in the coat’s outer pockets at his waist.

When he started walking again, the fabric of his pants brushed against itself, and his hiking boots crunched on the ground. Glancing toward the dog at his heel, he checked that it had started moving again as well.

The metal dog was just under a foot and a half tall, nearly the height of the man’s knee. It didn’t have a head, and the dog’s knees bent backward. Keeping pace with the man, it maneuvered over the trail’s imperfections or unburied acorns as if the decision to lift each leg had to be made individually, yet it did so with expert ease. A few snowflakes collected on the flat back of the dog, but most of the flakes simply slipped off the dog’s casing.

“What time is it?” the man asked.

A voice from a hidden speaker on the dog answered, “It is currently 3:02 in the afternoon, Eastern.” The dog’s voice was crisp, and each syllable was enunciated in a way only something that did not need to breathe could replicate.

“Before I left, you said it wasn’t going to snow until seven.” The man wondered if he had somehow asked for the incorrect location’s weather.

“At 1:50 pm Eastern, the chance of precipitation at 3 was 5%. Current chance of precipitation at 3 is 100%. Since 1:50 pm, the temperature has also dipped into the mid twenties.”

“Yeah.” The man narrowed his eyes.

Driving to meet with the boys would have been faster than walking, but the roads were icy. That tended to fool vehicle computers into either thinking there was an impassable blockade or the road was perfectly fine, depending on how visible the ice was. If someone was lucky enough to get a car started, that same person had to know how to turn on manual driving—for stunt drivers and daredevils who liked racing—to even have a hope of arriving at a destination properly. The man didn’t know if his car would start, and he didn’t have an ounce of desire to figure out how to turn on the manual setting. He didn’t trust himself or other people on the road. Certainly not in winter conditions.

So he had decided to walk. The trail was a shortcut he’d taken many times before. Not only was it a pleasant hike, but today, unlike using the sidewalks by the streets, it would also get him to his destination before seven—before it started snowing. Or so he had thought. If he’d known the weather wasn’t going to hold off, he would have at least worn different gloves.

“When will I arrive?” the man asked.

The dog said, “Your estimated time of arrival is 4:30 pm Eastern.”

“At least that hasn’t changed,” the man mumbled. He lowered his chin further into the collar of his coat.

Over the next few minutes, the snow shifted from fluttering to properly falling. He could still see ahead of himself just fine, but the snow was beginning to collect on the ground. The toes of his boots were turning white, while the edges of the path blurred. His knowledge of the trail, along with the slightly higher piles of undisturbed leaves beside it, made it possible to still follow the path.

The dog kept its pace at the man’s side. It was silent, except for the whirring from the components of the joints. The snowflakes still did not stick to the dog’s metal, but the dog’s balance had allowed a small pile to form along its back.

After shaking his head to get some of the snow off himself, the man took his hands out of his pockets to reach up and fit his hat lower on his head, covering his forehead all the way to his eyebrows. He stuffed his hands back in his pockets as soon as he could.

The wind hadn’t picked up. If anything, the breeze had disappeared; the snow was falling straight. But the clouds seemed darker. It was colder now. The man knew that because the tip of his nose was tingling despite the scarf covering it.

At least he was moving, and he had layered his socks. His feet almost felt too warm. A bead of sweat even managed to drip down his forehead from underneath his hat. He battled against his body claiming to be too hot, while his head understood that it was preferable to exposing more of his skin to the elements.

The man’s foot caught on a root in the path that the dusting of white had successfully covered. Stumbling, he grit his teeth. He almost regained his balance without bringing his hands out of his pockets, but he stepped too far to the side. His foot hit one of the dog’s legs and found no purchase there.

The man tipped forward. After yanking them out of his pockets, he landed on his hands. A twig poked through one of his gloves. The brittle leaves did little to soften the ground under his palms, and the thin layer of snow eagerly became water that seeped to his fingers.

Shifting to his knees, the man pulled the stick out of his glove before he shook his hands. A creeping numbness seemed to spread from the tips of his fingers like the water was gnawing on them.

He frowned. After taking his gloves off, he unzipped one of his pant pockets and shoved the gloves into it. Not bothering to zip his pocket closed, he balled his hands into fists, putting them back in his coat’s pockets. Then he struggled to his feet. Some snow fell off the man’s pants, but most of what was left on his knees was dirt. The dog took a few steps back but waited for the man to start walking before it, too, started to move forward.

As the man continued, he paid closer attention to bumps on the ground in an effort to avoid tripping again. A pain in his fingers, like his skin was tightening, told him his hands were still going numb. He recalled learning the warmest place to keep your hands was under your arms, so he uncurled his fists and brought his hands out of his pockets. Crossing his arms, he positioned his hands under his armpits. The added pressure alone seemed to stave off the numbness from before.

After sniffling, he blew warm air from his mouth up to his nose. Trapped by his scarf, the air spread to his cheeks. It warmed his face only briefly. His scarf was beginning to feel damp, both from the snow collecting on it and his sweat from earlier. The inside of his hat still felt dry, though, and he felt grateful his ears were well covered, nearly burning.

After he thought that, the man wondered if his ears weren’t just going numb, too. He risked bringing a hand out from under his arm to rub one of his ears through the hat. The snow there coated his fingers, but his ear didn’t hurt, so he decided his head was actually warm. While he did this, the falling snow bit at his hand with needling pricks as if he could feel each flake’s six points. He quickly tucked his hand back under his arm.

Glancing at the trees by the trail, he noted that he was approaching the part of the forest where water was most likely to collect—the most uneven part of the path. In this weather, the common puddles might have thin layers of ice. They would normally be easy to spot, but the snow endeavored to make everything look the same.

The man slowed to be careful, testing the ground in front of him by sliding his foot before putting his weight anywhere new. The dog matched the new pace, but it had no reason to be cautious. It stepped directly on ice the man avoided.

The ice cracked, and one of the dog’s front legs splashed into the inch-deep water. Continuing through the puddle, the dog lifted its legs slightly higher between each step, breaking more of the ice until it escaped from the water.

It occurred to the man that the dog could find the safe path for him.

“Go a few steps in front of me,” he said.

“Moving a few steps in front of you.” The dog shifted forward.

Now that he could be sure of where the ice was in advance, the man began moving faster. The dog increased its speed, too, still following the man’s instruction. Ahead of him, it smashed through several puddles, which the man walked around.

The next puddle that the dog revealed was the largest. The fresh cracks in the ice spread out, shifting the layer of snow, showing that the puddle stretched across the entire width of the trail. It was likely the last puddle, given that the path returned to being relatively even after. In the cases where water had collected like this, the man would usually use the shallower patches to cross, keeping his shoes as dry as possible, but the ice disguised the puddle’s depth.

The dog took a few more steps before stopping. Glancing between each side of the path, the man considered his options. He could try jumping over the puddle, but that felt like it brought too high a risk of landing poorly and falling back into the water. On his right, a tree next to the trail had created an arched wall of dirt using its roots. That wall was about the height of the dog. On the other side of the man, a steep drop of a few feet led to what might as well have been a bowl in the middle of the forest. Its bottom must have been full of water.

Making a quick decision, the man walked back down the trail until he could get around the short wall of dirt. Off the trail, more leaves had piled up, so his feet sank into them. They rustled, bending instead of simply breaking under his weight. Some leaves caught on his boots, and he kicked them off, disrupting the snow as he passed the tree.

The dog backed out of the water and turned around, hurrying to catch up with the man. At the same time the man moved to step back on the path, the dog rushed around him to get a few steps ahead. It knocked the man off balance as he tried to avoid the dog. He uncrossed his arms but caught his balance by planting his foot directly on the edge of the iced puddle. The feeling of the ground breaking underneath him stole his balance again, and his ankle twisted before he fell into the water.

He thought at the last moment not to use his hands to save himself. His winter pants offered some cushion, so neither the ice nor the ground hurt. His hands were complaining about the cold air as he held them out, but he had kept them dry. The same could not be said for anything else.

While the fabric of his outer clothing was waterproof, the few inches of water found breaks in the cloth easily. Icy water slipped through the waist of his pants, and some of it was soaking up the shirt he wore under the coat. His sweat now felt like a coating of ice.

Cursing, the man got to his feet. His ankle offered an annoyed twinge, but that pain was already receding. His scarf had slipped off his nose, so he raised the cloth again and pulled it tighter. Since his hands were stinging, he took his gloves out of his pocket. He was relieved to find that the water had not dampened them more than they’d been before. The water had failed to find the open zipper pocket. They were still damp, though, so he pocketed them again, zipping the pocket this time. He returned to crossing his arms to keep his hands warm.

“Cancel earlier instruction,” the man said.

“Earlier command canceled,” the dog replied.