Page 7 of Snowed In With the Dragon Kings

That's bad. I know that's bad.

I look at the nearest pine, its heavy branches drooping almost to the ground. I could crawl under there. Dig out a little hollow. Wait for the storm to pass.

But how long will that take? A few hours? A day? Two? And how long can I last, wet and shivering, with no fire?

Not long enough. I know that too. People in my village have gone out into storms like this one and been found in the spring.

So, no. I'm not crawling under a tree to die. I'm going to keep walking, and I'm going to find the pass, and I'm going to show up on my friend's doorstep looking like a drowned cat, and we're going to laugh about this someday.

I take one step forward.

And a howl rises over the wind.

It's long and low and mournful, and every hair on my body stands on end. I freeze where I am, one foot still lifted.

Another howl answers. This one's behind me.

Oh, gods.

I know that sound. Every child in my village knows that sound, even if we've never heard it for ourselves. The old men tell stories about it around the fire on long winter nights, and they always lower their voices when they get to this part.

Dire wolves.

They live up here in the northern mountains, where nobody else wants to live. They're bigger than ponies. They can drag down a full grown horse. And even the best hunters in the village won't go after one without a whole party at their back.

And I'm one cold, wet, lost woman with a bag full of food and spare stockings. Hardly a hunting party.

A third howl rises.

This one is close. Much closer than the others.

And that's when I understand. They're not passing through. They're not calling to each other from across the mountains.

They’re Circling.

They're circling me.

"Move," I whisper. "Move, move, move."

I force my legs forward. I stumble through the snow, half running, half falling, searching for somewhere to hide. A cave. A cliff. A tree I could climb, if my hands still worked. Anything.

Running is pointless. I know that. You don't outrun wolves. Everybody knows that. But standing still and waiting for them feels so much worse that I can't make myself do it.

Shapes move between the trees.

I catch them out of the corner of my eye. Dark, huge, and gone when I turn to look. Too big. Far too big to be ordinary wolves. They slip through the swirling white like smoke.

A growl rumbles somewhere off to my right.

I jerk away from it, and my boot catches on a root buried under the snow. I pitch forward, catch myself on a trunk, and keep going.

My heart is slamming so hard I can hear it.

There's no outrunning them. No hiding from them. So I do the only thing left.

I scream.

"Help!" The wind snatches my voice and shreds it. "Help me! Somebody, please!"