Eloise wraps her brown drab coat around herself, shivering uncontrollably. She probably has hypothermia, she thinks sourly, as she looks down to her blue tinged hands.

The cold moves in only to meet the warmth of her blood, her only defence left against such ice. She could feel it wash over her skin, again and again. The truth is, as hard as it is, that so long she keeps moving she’ll win. The ones who stop are the ones who freeze; the victors reach the safety of home because one foot always moves in front of the other in defiance to the wind, in a rage against the winter blasts, at ease with the volcano that breathes under this snowy mountain top.

Stumbling, Eloise’s chest constricted in pain. Losing her footing and tumbling in the snow, she gasped as the cold sunk deeper into her bones. Feelings lightheaded and numb, she lay there for a while before closing her eyes, pulling herself together, and getting to her feet.

She was strong. She would make it.

She just had to get through this snow…

Despite its danger, the cold earth is so very pretty in its crystal-white gown.