The snow don’t so much crunch as squelch beneath Henry’s feet.
“Finally, its thawing.” Henry had long ago taken to talking to himself. He had decided that it represented a saner kind of insanity than a complete absence of human voices would’ve caused.
The quickly melting snow didn’t help him move any faster though. Instead of marching on top of compacted ice crystals, every step now proved a rescue mission for his legs as the quagmire of slush and mud tried to hold them tight.
Suddenly he stopped, and looked around. Footsteps. Not human, not always. Henry tried to run, knowing it would be no good. Their paws were much better suited to the terrain. He could tell they were close, the howls confirmed it.
There was a wolf in front of him.
It was a wolf no more.