Snow begins with shadow.

Sharp, frenzied cries pierce the dark. He is running now, his friends forgotten, through calf-deep drifts. Even when the cries have stopped, he can hear and he can feel.

Snow finalizes shadow.

There was no warning. Darkness given shape and form had risen up and battered the campsite to ash. Only the screaming blanket of wind, which siphoned warmth in lieu of gifting it, remained.

Snow is shadow.

The shape was behind and in front, a marriage of dark and light. Everywhere and nowhere, looming. He falls. Blood from the gaping injury completes the snow, speckled across a surface that it returns to ancestral water. Darkness devoured the ice. It shone in the rising moon, as the shadow upon its surface receded.

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