The Snow Storm

Prompt number thirty-four:

Inspired by the Snow Micro Challenge

***

A diagonal spread of snowflakes created an opaque sheet of white cold and old Olwen was unable to see anything through it.

"Griff! Griff!"

She shouted desperately into the night and the snow took her words and coveted them for themselves, muffling them.

She was going to have to find him. Phones not working. An image of Griff's still blue face, being lost as the snow claimed it filled her head, his features steadily being levelled by cold, cold flakes. She couldn't let that happen.

The cold took her breath, squeezed it until it rasped. Panting, she struggled into her boots and grabbed the torch, muttering under her breath as she turned it on. She'd be able to see more with a lit match. She suddenly wanted to curse at him for his lack of care, his impulsiveness, his pure bloodymindedness and then, she realised that she might not be doing that again and hurried out, coat undone into the night.

Should she bring the dog? Could she help in this storm?

Tegan, their collie, responded at her mistress's bark and looked out into the night. She whined at the white. She could smell her master but it was indistinct.

"Come on, Tegan! Come on!"

The dog followed, willingly at first, but gingerly afterwards as the snow was thick and deep. Together, they howled into the night, the limp light from the torch a faint searchlight, barely grazing the snow.

***

In the brightness of morning, Griff returned from the shepherd's hut where he'd found shelter. He trudged. He was tired, having had no food, no sleep. He came to the gate into his yard and saw Tegan, eagerly coming towards him, attempting to bound through treacle snow. He hoped Olwen had not worried too much.

"Hello, girl! Hello!" He fussed Tegan as she licked his hand in welcome. "Where's your mistress, eh? Where is she?"

He was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding. He went towards a shape in the deep snow ahead of him. Boots. Tegan whined. Kneeling, he brushed the snow gently. A still blue face, lost as the snow had claimed it, her features having been steadily levelled by cold, cold flakes.

***

366 words

Too long for a snow micro, I wrote this and had to edit it down a lot to get it to 366 words. I seem to like sending people out into the snow as a death sentence. I'm not sure what that says about me.

Also, you'll notice it has another Welsh bent to it. I am Welsh after all. Griff is a popular Welsh name but if I was spelling it properly it should be Gruff, the -u in Welsh being pronounced like an English -i. However, I felt like that might too confusing and so opted for the anglicised spelling for clarity.

If you are interested in the other stories that I have written for the A Story Every Day in 2024 challenge of L. C. Schäfer, you can find links to them here:

Thanks for stopping by. If you do read it, please do comment as I love to interact with my readers.

34/366