You notice a path off to your right that winds in between some Douglas fur trees covered in a fine dusting of snow. As the path goes farther and farther off into the distance, the light powder appears to become thicker and thicker until the path is swamped with it. Looking down, you're glad that you wore a particularly thick jacket today. Zipping it up all the way, you take off down the snowy path.
At first, it isn't that cold. The path is covered in pebbles and is relatively easy to walk on. The trees aren't very tall and are only barely covered in snow. And only a slight wind blows through the pines. However, the farther you walk, the more uneven and twisty the trail gets. It went straight at first, but now it seems to be winding unevenly and randomly through the trees, which seem to have grown considerably taller and more heavily covered in snow as you all. Shivering, you wrap your hands around your body, but keep walking for some reason that you can't quite explain.
Looking up through the dense bough of trees, you are unsettled to see how late it's gotten. The sky is a dark navy blue and the first few stars are winking out, jewel-bright against the vastness of space. The wind has picked up and whips through the trees, rustling them, making a very unsettling sound that sounds just a bit too much like moaning. The moon is an icy, sharp sliver that seems to hang in the trees. It's gotten remarkable colder, and your jacket has long been outdone by the chill.
You're about to turn around and head back to the park when you hear a howl somewhere off to your right. Turning, you look into the field of dense firs and squint. Much to your alarm, you see a pair of yellow eyes blinking off in the distance. Another set winks on after that. And another. And another. Soon, six whole sets of eyes peer at you out of the shadowy trees. Gulping, you back away from the eyes, unknowingly stepping off the path as you do.
Your foot hits a snowbank and you fall to your rear on the cold, wet snow. The ice stings at your fingers. The eyes get closer and closer until you see their source: a pack of arctic wolves. They are growling and baring their fangs. They look distressingly thin, as if they haven't eaten in days. You quickly scramble to your feet and begin backing away again, only to strike the trunk of a fir tree. You're about fifteen feet off the path when the alpha raises it's head to the moon in the night sky and howls, a primal, terrifying cry of dominance.
It's too much. Screaming, you turn and begin rushing in between the trees, trying to outrun the pack. You hear the howls and the wolf's paws hitting the powdery snow behind you. Crying and panting, you jump a frozen river and run up a hill. Your fingers are almost beet red from the cold and feel like they could fall off at any moment. Same goes for your nose and ears. Your shoes are rapidly filling with snow and it's freezing your feet.
The wolves actually seem to be falling behind. In their exhaustion from being underfed, they can't run as fast and seem to be getting farther and farther away. Soon, you can't hear them at all. Still, you keep running as clouds cover the sky and big, fat flakes fall from the stormy clouds in a shower. It's like you're running through white confetti. Each flake hitting your face brings a stinging sensation and a desperate wish to be home in your bed.
As you burst out of the forest onto a clearing, you realize that you have no idea where you are. You're lost in some snowy forest in the middle of the night. You charge forward a few more yards before slipping on the ice and collapsing face first in the snow. Gasping, you sit up as the snow falls silently around you. Your teeth chatter and you've never been so cold in your entire life. Suddenly, you notice a dark shape coming towards you in the falling snow. You cry out and begin crawling away, hands striking the snow behind you.
But the shape is much quicker than you, and soon it's standing in front of you. You almost gasp as you look up at the person. It's a very old man, dressed in a fur parka and thick wool pants. He's holding a wooden staff of some kind and another artic wolf pads along next to him at his side. At the sight of it, you scream, but the old man puts a mittened hand up to silence you. You stare at him in shock as he reaches into a pocket of his parka and pulls out a handful of emerald green powder. Before you can say anything, he spreads out his palm and blows it in your direction. It swirls in the wind, dancing amount the snowflakes, until it smacks into your face, traveling down your throat and up your nose. You scream and gag, trying to cough the powder up, but to no avail. You look up but are shocked to see that the old man is gone.
It's at this moment that you begin feeling strange...