Frostfire Ridge iksuktaktuk

The soil here held a curious heat. Lane scratched against the soil for a few moments and then pressed her cheek against the earth, snuggling down, warming herself against the volcanic convection.  Since she laid down several hours previous, snow had been piling up on her back, enveloping Lane in a protective, frosty igloo. The snow cracked and shifted as she moved beneath it. Buried, she had no way of knowing whether it was light or dark outside, or even if it was still storming. For a few hours the makeshift burrow had been a welcome refuge, but as the gathering snow pressed heavier upon Lane's back, it began to feel claustrophobic. 

The surface of the snow roiled for a few moments, and then Lane's nose emerged. Fresh, frozen air sliced down her nasal passages and throat, banishing all her lingering sleepiness. Another few moments, and her face and ears were free, only to fall victim to the swift, relentless attack of wind and sleet. Lane squinted against the assault, peering at a wolf-shaped outline a stone's throw away from where she layed buried. Despite knowing that it was probably a figment of her imagination conjured from hunger-- or quite possibly hypothermia-- Lane barked at the stranger. She struggled against her frozen tomb once more, freeing her shoulders.

Wait up! Please! Don't leave me...