The wind had distributed the
snow unevenly, so that in some places movement was relatively easy, in
others, nearly impossible. The thick overcast of the sky threatened
further storm, and the white of the accumulated snow could not fully
illuminate the darkened landscape.
They traveled north where Kalus hoped, though his heart was sickened by
it, to find a frozen deer among the outlying forests. They really had
no other chance. The plains animals were gone, live deer were too
swift, and no rabbit or fox would be stirring in the extreme cold of
this day.
So he trudged northward, chilled and sweating, using strength his body
did not have to give. His stomach felt hollow and sickly; his muscles
trembled with fatigue. But he knew (or thought) the alternative was
despair, and his mind was not clear enough to perceive the danger. So
he continued.
And as he pushed on, farther and farther beyond the limits of endurance,
it was as if he passed through a veil and walked, literally, into
another world. Time and distance became confused. . .and still on his
feet he dreamed of straggling columns of men, plodding through a frozen
countryside. Ragged blue uniforms clung to their backs, to his.
Wounded and sick, with helpless eyes searching both sides of the road,
fearful of ambush.
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