Such sweet shelter from the wind and snow. The trees reached to the sky, snow piled up several inches deep on their branches. I recognized various pines and firs and the ever-present larches. The trail showed clearly in some places, and in others was marked only with a faint axe cut on the side of a tree. I couldn’t remember where I’d seen or on what map a cabin on the other side of this stand of trees. I presumed the path must lead to something; why else would it be there? If we kept walking until we came out the other side, we’d know. If there was one, we’d be in it, and if not, we’d build some kind of shelter in the trees.
Hours and hours. If the daylight hadn’t stayed the same, I’d have sworn it was days. I followed in Art’s footsteps; we were silent. What was there to say? Keep an ey
