They hesitated for a heartbeat longer, then with a final glance, they turned and dashed off in opposite directions. The snow muffled their footsteps, but they knew their father would find them eventually. The only question was how long they could keep running, how long they could avoid his wrath.

"I need to leave this place now!" Cedar thought urgently, and he watched over his shoulder as Jett dashed out of sight, leaving his footprints behind. He could feel the panic rising in his throat. He realized that he was alone now; his father would have his full attention now. The snow crunches beneath his feet as he darts through the forest, his lungs burning from the cold air and the smoke that still lingers in his system. The trees seem to reach out for him, their branches scratching at his fur as he races past. "We need a clearing!" he mutters to himself, his voice barely audible above the sound of his own heartbeat.

he tripped over a fallen log as he rolled into a step cliff, the sharp Rockscape at his back. He looks up, seeing the treetops above him. He takes a deep breath, preparing to leap up, when a familiar voice cuts through the air.

"Cedar?!" Jett's voice echoes through the trees. "Cedar, where are you?" The panic in his brother's voice gives him new strength, and he scrambles to his feet, leaping up onto the log and then bounding through the forest toward the sound of Jett's voice. The snow crunches beneath his feet, the air is cold and biting, and the smoke still lingers in his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He has to make it alive for his brother's sake. "I need to leave this place now!" Cedar thought urgently, and he watched over his shoulder as Jett dashed out of sight, leaving his footprints behind. He could feel the panic rising in his throat. He realized that he was alone now; his father would have his full attention now. The snow crunches beneath his feet as he darts through the forest, his lungs burning from the cold air and the smoke that still lingers in his system. The trees seem to reach out for him, their branches scratching at his fur as he races past. "We need a clearing!" he mutters to himself, his voice barely audible above the sound of his own heartbeat.

He has no idea where he is going; the trees all look the same. He can hear Jett calling for him, his voice growing more distant with every passing moment. Suddenly, he rounds a corner and sees a small clearing ahead, illuminated by the light of the moon and the glow of the fire. A stream meanders through the center of the clearing, its icy waters glistening invitingly. He dashes towards the stream, the cold air burning in his lungs. As he reaches the bank, he looks back over his shoulder, half expecting to see their father looming behind him. But the clearing is empty.

Cedar always hated cliffs with a passion; he had almost fallen to his death from where he was a young pup. Now, with his heart racing and his lungs burning, he dared not look down as he followed the stream, keeping close to the bank. The trees above him swayed gently in the night breeze, casting eerie shadows across the ground. The water lapped at his feet, cooling them slightly, but it did little to ease the burning in his chest. He could hear Jett's voice echoing through the forest, calling for him, their voices occasionally blending together in a desperate plea for the other to find safety. 'Being human stinks," he mutters to himself, wishing he could shift into his wolf form and run faster. He knew that none of the wolves could smell him if he were human; the smoke and chemicals in his skin would mask his scent.

"There's no way dad could keep up with us in this snow, not without risking a broken leg." Cedar thinks to himself, his voice barely audible above the sound of the rushing stream. He follows the river, his feet sinking into the soft, yielding mud with each step. The trees tower above him, their branches intertwining to form a canopy that blocks out most of the moonlight. The air is cold and crisp, but it's not as biting as it was before. He can feel his lungs beginning to clear, and the smoke is finally dissipating from his system. He wipes his running nose on his sleeve, hoping to clear his vision just enough to see where he's going.

he hoped none of the steams would lead to a cliff, the thought terrified him. he kept looking back, expecting his father to appear any second now. the forest was silent, save for the crunch of his feet against the snow and the distant howls of other wolves in the distance. He knew that he needed to keep moving, to keep putting distance between them and his father. The trees here were older, their trunks thick and gnarled, their branches reaching up to the sky like the arms of giant, sleeping beasts. The snow lay thick on the forest floor, muffling his footsteps and making it difficult to navigate. The air was cold, but not as biting as it had been before.

He was so lucky to wear his favorite red hoodie and black jeans, but it wasn't enough protection against the cold. The snow was getting deeper and deeper, making it harder to move forward. He wondered how long he could keep this up. He glanced back over his shoulder, half expecting to see his father's angry face behind him, but the trees blocked his view. The wind picked up, sending a flurry of snowflakes swirling around him, stinging his eyes and numbing his face. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, trying to clear his vision, but it was no use. The snow continued to fall, relentless and uncaring.

He has no idea where he is headed or going. As he walks further and further, he begins to lose hope. He keeps trying to find a place to rest and get warm, but there's no place to hide. He tries to climb a tree, but it's too slippery from the snow. He tries to dig a hole in the snow, but it's too deep, and he can't breathe. He tries to follow a stream, but it leads him deeper into the woods. He's so tired, so cold, and so hungry. All he wants to do is go home, but he doesn't know where home is anymore.

Suddenly, he missed his footing and slipped, falling face first into the snow. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he lay there for a moment, gasping for air. As he struggled to regain his footing, he realized that he had fallen into a small clearing. In the center of the clearing stood a lone log, its bark heavy with snow. As he stared up at it, an idea formed in his mind. He started crawling through the snow towards the log, his movements slow and labored. When he reached the entrance, he slipped in, nesting himself safely but cramped. The snow stopped falling, and the wind died down, granting him a moment's respite from the cold.

With his weight, the log began to sway, and he realized it rested near a cliff. He tries to keep his balance, his heart racing as he clings to the log. He looks around for something to use as a weapon, but there's nothing but snow and ice. He tries to climb up the cliff, but it's too steep and slippery. He tries to climb down the cliff, but it's too dangerous. he's trapped. He's so scared and alone.

Much to his horror, the log was swaying dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart as he fought the urge to panic. With each passing moment, the log inched closer and closer to the precipice. He tried to focus on something, anything, to distract himself from the impending doom. He remembered the first time he had climbed a tree and how his father laughed and told him that he was too small to reach the highest branches. He remembered the first time he had caught a fish, the struggle between the two of them, the fish flopping and squirming in his hands. He remembered the first time he had fallen in love—the butterflies in his stomach and the way her laugh filled his heart. He remembered the first time he had been told that he was going to die—the shock and disbelief, the fear that he would never see another sunrise.

The log creaked ominously, threatening to snap at any moment. He opened his eyes, unable to stand the suspense any longer. The cliff was so close now that he could almost reach out and touch it. With a final, desperate heave, the log gave way, sending him tumbling through the air, his scream swallowed up by the snow and the wind. He landed with a sickening thud, the breath rushing out of his lungs. For a moment, he lay still, too stunned to move. But then, as the pain began to register, he forced himself to get up and keep going. The forest had somehow changed; the trees were shorter and more twisted, their branches reaching out like the claws of dead things. The snow had turned to slush, making it difficult to walk. He was cold, tired, and hungry, but he couldn't stop. He had to keep going. He had to find his way home.

With a scream, Cedar's log was hurled through the air. It tumbled end over end, plunging down the steep slope, gathering speed with each rotation. The snow and ice sloughed off it in great clouds, momentarily obscuring the view of the forest below. Then, with a final, resounding crack, the log smashed into a rocky outcropping, splintering into a thousand fragments. The impact was so forceful that it knocked Cedar clear off the log, sending him tumbling down the slope after his makeshift raft. He landed hard on his side, the breath rushing out of his lungs. For a moment, he lay still, stunned by the pain coursing through his body.

He had longed to see hogsmeade, to walk among the lights and laughter, to feel the warmth of a fire, and to have the companionship of friends. But as he lay there in the snow, battered and bruised, he realized that he would never make it. The pain was too much, and the cold was too bitter. He closed his eyes, wondering if this was how it would end—if he would simply lie here until he froze to death or if help came. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but the calming beckoning of sleep called to him, promising him warmth and comfort. With a sigh, he surrendered to the inevitable.