Scoured nearly clean of my clothing by the wind-driven ice, I stumbled on toward the faint, faint glow on the horizon. My head bowed against the wind, catching only the briefest glances of hope, praying that I wasn't chasing the Aurora Borealis, I trudged along on bleeding feet, the precious serum clutched to my bosom, sheltered from the sleet and snow and warmed by my now-partly frozen and bleeding body.

Onward and onward I stumbled through the drifts, my bleeding feet no longer able to feel the cutting shards of ice upon which I trod. Finally, I could go no further and collapsed against some logs.