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. He tried, foundered in a drift, and fell back. For a
moment fury blazed so bright in his brown eyes that Tanis
could see it despite the blizzard's concealing curtain.
He dropped to his knees beside his friend, shouted and
tried again to pull him to his feet. He could get no purchase
in the drifted snow, no grip with his frozen hands.
"Tanis, no."
How could he have heard Sturm's whisper above the
wind's scream? Or was it that he read the protest in the
boy's eyes?
"Tanis . . . take the wood . . . go."
"No! We'll rest. Just for a moment. We'll rest." There
was more danger, he knew, in resting than in going on. The
very wind that tore at them now would carry the scent of
fresh blood to the wolves who must be trailing behind. But
he, too, was not accustomed to abandoning his friends.
Tanis went down on his knees again in the snow and
drew Sturm as close to him as he could, hoping to protect
the boy from the worst of the piercing wind. Just for a
moment, he promised himself. Just until Sturm can recoup.
So gentle is the paradoxical warmth that suffuses a man
just before freezing, so entrancing, that Tanis did not
recognize it for what it was. He only wondered briefly that
he had enough body warmth left to feel, then closed his
eyes wearily and forgot to open them
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