Setting and Tone

The cold hit you like a train as the wind screamed its hatred for you, battering you with frozen pellets of pure ice. Your poor eyes would freeze shut if not for the copious amount of clothing surrounding your face and body; it's almost impossible to put your arms at your sides because of your coats.

Spots of light in the storming dark were few and far between, and you hadn't seen any for what must've been an hour by now. Even the most keen animals couldn't find you over the wind and blizzard, and all you could see was their large, dark silhouette.

Every crunch of the frozen snow got more of it into your boots, and you felt it go down into your socks. Your ears felt like freezer-burnt produce, and the wind seemed to take your breath away the second you exhaled.

Despite your best efforts, your hands felt numb. Your feet were getting to that point, and you'd fallen into the snow clumsily about five times now. Honestly, it's all fuzzy; you can't remember how many times you fell, or if you even fell. Even thinking about the point from which you came is difficult.

You shouldn't have gone out alone.