The blowing snow cut across his path in a downward slant, drawing stinging lines of white over the empty plain. A path of footprints, little craters in the sheet covering the hard ground, trailed away in a gently curving arc over the horizon — each print a signpost pointing the way to his girl with green eyes. But the drifting, falling snow filled them in bit by bit and unless he caught up soon, it’d cover her tracks forever.
He pulled his scarf up over his mouth against the blowing snow and stepped off the road. He matched her stride step for step, walking in her footprints.
Something caught his eye and–
–the scene burned away. The plain of blowing snow became tangled sheets of green snaked around a twisted, sprawled form in bed.
He raised his head off the pillow and sat up, propped on his elbows, and stared. Stared straight ahead, past his physical sight and through to the fading dream, those footprints in the snow.