Snowbound

Three weeks the snow covered mountains have held us prisoner to the storms. I can never recall such weather.

The mountain tracks and gorges are made impassable, even the great pines have been humbled and lowered, their limbs torn and broken under the very weight of the snow.

With each new day we pray for rescue, but come the evening our prayers turn to that of survival. The food has all but gone, we survive on a diet of dried biscuits and water, boiled from the morning snow. Our strength is failing and our minds, clouded in judgement, think only of better times.

Outside the wolves gather, their restless behaviour sees them too exhausted to forage for food. Each day they grow in numbers, their desperation drawing them ever closer to our cabin.

Last evening I heard them clawing at the boards outside, I did not tell the others. The intense cold claims our warmth as its own. We do not speak, we have not the strength. The fire, for so long our friend, has turned strangely indifferent. Its apathetic glow no longer deems to bond our determination.

The wind blows stronger than ever before, bringing with it a storm that threatens our very survival. The others, prepared for death, have surrendered into sleep. I no longer hear them breathe or take comfort from their tormented moans. Is it god’s will we leave together? If so, how have we wronged him?

The cabin complains under the very weight of the storm and the fire, unconvinced of its importance, has long since deserted us. Help will not come. It is later than we think. Outside the wolves howl their displeasure. The time has come to open the door….