The snow fell in feather-edged clumps, landing soft, landing silent. Landing all over Ambrose’s prone form.
He shivered in hard convulsions that made him warm and tired.
Ambrose panted in between shivers.
A blurred and warped memory of him biting someone’s neck appeared in his mind.
His mouth watered.
The snow landed fluff soft on his muzzle. Each landing obscured more and more of his visual field. His mind warped the snow into heavy dirt being thrown on him, burying him alive.
His shivering worsened.
He shook his head, which knocked the snow off his muzzle. Unfortunately, it also made him intensely dizzy.
Everything was spinning too fast and it wouldn’t stop. He was all too warm and all too cold. He couldn’t stop shivering. And, even with the overcast sky, the day was far too bright.
He wanted to curl into a ball of misery and die, but his neck and wrists were still pinned down.
He heard it.
Footsteps crunching through the snow.
Footsteps heading his way.
The footsteps stopped beside him.
Hands cleared the snow off his body – all the way up to his face.
Then, he saw it.
It was dressed in a maroon velvet cape with black fur trim. The hood was up and over the person’s head, but Ambrose could smell her scent of burnt olive oil. He knew who it was.
Until she looked down at him.
It wasn’t the hunter.
It was a creature with a skull’s face and it seemed to smile at him.