The man stumbles back the way he came. Frozen feet. Numb. Finds the stepping stumps. Slowly places a foot. Balances on hard, frostbitten toes. Stump to stump. Reaches legs and arms like a knuckle-dragger. Crawls on tiny slices of vermillion knees.

The temperature rises. Warmth. Still violently shivering. Stops. Sits on a stump. Rubs skin. Damaged feet. Blood circulates. Throbs and aches. Can't feel a missing toenail. Not yet. Might. Soon.

Examines his legs and abdomen. Red. Like ice fire has scalded him. Fingers unthaw painfully.

Makes a fist. Wiggles his toes. Doesn't know what to do. But does.

Something moves in the blear of his vision. Looks up. Focuses beyond his own limbs. Witnesses the snow. A set of eyes watch him. White on white. Pure cataract. Brightly glowing now. Not like before. Another set open beside like white revealing more white. And another. And more. Another. Watching. Unblinking. Leering everywhere.

Faces form below each set. Lips breach the surface. Mouths open. White, jagged teeth like cloudy icicles. White on white like a Bela Lugosi Binson tape delay. Jagged. Barbed. Ancient otherworldly antlers.

He has the butane lighter in his left hand. Numb fingers. Positions it properly for use. Watches the eyes. Mouths. Opens the base lid. Painfully. Heart pounds. Flicks the flint wheel. Sparks. More sets of eyes open. More ancient arrowheads. White on white. Flicks again. Thumb still frozen. Flicks again. Burns his thumb. Fire. Leans his hand down into the snow. Keeps eye contact. White on white.

The snow puffs sulphuric ribbon underneath. Lifts his hand out. Clasps the lid closed. The white disintegrates into a black ash where the fire catches.

The eyes move toward him. Mouths widen. Barbed antlers. Contorting lips. Black in white. Silent. The yellow fire spreads instantly. Scent of burning flesh. All the snow around the man becomes ash. All the eyes and mouths sink under the blackening white. The burning continues throughout the coppice, as far as he can witness like a wave of disintegration.

Closes his eyes.

Opens his eyes.

There's no snow. No white on white. Looks down. The stump he crouches on is the top of a large tree, cut three quarters of the way up. Below is a vast woodland valley covered in the daylight shadows of ashes. The remains of creatures lay like thin distortions. Osteal. Tenebrous. Black snow falls like molecules of feathers.

Stands up. Holds his sculpture. Pisses a long arc into the remains below. Spits.

"Drink's on me."

Turns toward where he wants to go. Jumps from jack pine to jack pine. Reaches and crawls when he has to. No longer cares about falling into any snow. Would welcome the fall if he slips.

Decides he must hurry. Pushes himself. Sweats again. Wind chills his flesh. The cold's coming. Can feel its gelid sting like trading a malediction for another malediction.

Finds the right aerie. The one nest where he wants to rest. Climbs over the weave wall of branches and bark. Jumps down. Looks at the ruin of his soul. The ruin of her. Can see his breath. Walks to her. Lays beside her. Holds the stone hard flesh of her wine dark hand. Looks at her hollows. Her face. The branches bulge from her destroyed mouth. Kisses her forehead.

"I'm sorry, ma woman. I'm ere now. I'm not going anywhere else. I got us justice. I won."

Her arm creaks. Can't tell if the sound is of branches or bones. She moves. Cold wine dark hand rests on his cheek. Cataract eyes roll open within her skull. Watch him. Not her eyes. Doesn't care.

A protruding branch from the bole of her mouth moves up and down. Rattles. He looks up. A set of eyes open above him. White in the shadows. Blinks like the glitter of ice. Jagged icicle antler teeth.

The man sighs. Closes his eyes. Wine dark.

End