Go around

There must be other people in the area; ones less risky to be involved in. You turn your eyes away from the fire, and shuffle your way around the camp. Once on the other side, you continue your descent. As night approaches, your condition worsens. You feel your breath get shallower, and shallower. Your ears throb with every beat of your heart, until you can't hear anything else. Through your blurry vision, you can see a **** of winter-crows hovering over your head.

Shortly before nightfall your legs give out. Landing face-first into a pile of snow with only two days worth of memory tends to give a odd sort of perspective. As you claw your way forward one inch at a time, you question every decision you made, every turn you took. You wonder if that camp was a better or worse choice than freezing to ****, alone. As the last of the heat leaves your body, and the birds slowly descend upon you, you don't even have enough of a memory to regret how your life turned out.

The birds feast, and life goes on.

It is cold.

Like it always is.