The wind, the rush, the chill.

The snow as it crunched beneath my paws. It clumped between my toes, then melted. I pushed on through the thick drifts. Will this relentless storm ever end?

The wind, the rush, the chill.

The dark clouds blanketing the sky. The smell of more snow on the way. Day is night and night is night. The darkness doesn’t seem to subside. My pack mates follow close behind, moaning against the gales. The wind screams in our ears.

The wind, the rush, the chill.

The ripping branches of the trees as we run through the night. We nip at eachothers’ heels if we slow or stumble. We travel like a rushing river. Our paws are Zephyrs.

The wind, the rush, the chill.