A Frozen Scene

The wind whistles in my ears, shaking the trees surrounding me with a violent intensity as I run home. Home. I thought I would be there by now.

A shiver jerks my body and I pull my arms firmly around my chest. The toe of my boot jams into something, and I'm lying face-first in the knee-high snow. The wind fully knocked out of me, I pull myself to a kneeling position, coughing and sputtering all the while.

This was not the plan. I meant to be home hours ago. Back before it started snowing. Back before the sun started sinking behind the trees, the blackness of night hanging in the air like a well-meant threat.

I didn't say no though. I can never say no.

Especially when it comes to him.

He's always had me, but I don't think he's ever fully known.

I'll never let it go because I'll never learn.

Wolves howl in the distance, the only motivation I need to scramble to my feet. It's difficult keeping my legs from embarking in an all-out sprint, but I've already fallen once. Slow and steady is the only way to go unless I want to dance with the possibility of a broken ankle.

"Almost there," I whisper to myself. At least, I think I'm almost there. I thought I was almost there fifteen minutes ago, but I have yet to stumble into the clearing cradling our cabin.

I push down the gnawing feeling growing in my stomach. Lunch was hours and hours ago, but it's not hunger I'm feeling. No, it's the empty, fluttery, biting inner storm of fear. Fear of being hopelessly lost.

The wind picks up, funneling through the trees and striking me hard on my back. I crouch down to escape being knocked over. What a disaster. If only I had-

If only.

Two of the most bitter-tasting words in the whole world.

I place my hands on the ground in front of me. The snow is less deep here. My fingers effortlessly burrow through the snow until they reach the frozen-solid ground. It's smooth. Too smooth. Scraping away at the snow, I find a thick layer of ice. This isn't the ground at all, but frozen water. Addie's Pond. I must have accidentally stumbled off course when I fell.

The wind swirling around me is louder than any thunder I've ever heard, and I burrow my face into my sleeve. Instead of bringing warmth and feeling back into my skin, my wool sleeves are coated with ice and snow, further numbing my face.

"At least I know where I am," I say through chattering teeth with every ounce of confidence I do not possess. "At least I'm not lost."

I don't feel comforted.

"A fire will be waiting for me at home," I mumble through trembling lips while standing and dusting as much snow off my mittened hands as possible.

I start back the way I came and then freeze. My eyes squint, trying to right the illusion in front of me. My footprints hang around like a temporary souvenir of the evening's journey, but they're not alone. Another set of footprints lace my own, weaving around in drunken circles, lines, and skids.

Another heavy gust of wind catapults at me, carrying with it a sharp cry for help. I spin around and around, head jerking this way and that. I must be mad. "Help!" comes the nearly wind-drowned cry again, and I'm certain it's not my imagination.

For a split-second, I'm torn. Home is so close. More than anything, I want to be home. I can't leave someone out here though. I know I can't before I even know I can't. My mind was made up years before this moment. I set out farther across the pond towards the noise.