Jan 04 2009
Dillon Dukes VII
The storm arrived just as he entered the canyon. The wind howled about him, stirring up loose ice, dirt and dead leaves. The small, barren bushes around him snapped and cracked with the wind. Snow began to fall. It was whirling about him; any other man would have been dizzy by the movement. He had spent years in snow country; this storm was nothing new to him. The narrow slot in which he trudged filled quickly with the white powder. In a matter of minutes he was pushing through a foot of snow. Not long after the trail split in two. Without flinching he turned left, following the trail into a thin slot, not three feet wide.
