The memory of sledding is what she carries as she trudges through the thick and dense flakes of snow that have compiled together to create one colossal mass.

The cold has sunken in through her skin and is starting to lace her bones, wrapping around them like flames licking a newly placed log in the fire.

Her coat has received rips from the multiple twigs reaching out, trying to draw her closer to them.

The spot behind her ear is wet and warm.

But she hardly registers the shivers racking her spine out of place, or the tingling in her fingertips that are slowly beginning to fade.

All her mind can do in this weather is stutter. She cannot think coherently, she cannot see through the thick flurries that fly in front of her face, she cannot find her voice; for it is too frozen to be of use.

The memory of sledding plays on a loop in her mind. The sun had been bright when she trudged to the top of the hill. Friends and strangers of all sorts, from those her age to an elderly couple, accompanied her on the march. At last she found the ground below her feet flat enough to place her sled in the snow, adjust herself so that she was sitting comfortably, and pushed off with her boots.

In the time that it took for her to truly fall, she felt her gravity slowly shift. The tug was undeniable, and there was no resisting the oncoming descend she would inevitably take.

That was what she loved. She had no control, but she utterly believed in the forces of winter to keep her upright.

For some reason, the memory makes her feel safe. It keeps her warm, though the temperature is freezing.

Home, though far away, calls to her. But the empty house contains no warmth like the memory, so she ignores its beckoning.

She stops walking after a while, her legs simply refusing to move. In a daze she hobbles as far as she can, only to plummet into a face-full of snow. Her breathing hitches, startled at the impact, but she doesn’t struggle to get up.

She can’t.

Her vision begins to fade out. It looks like there are stars in her eyes. They glimmer and shine, sparkling so bright she can no longer see.

Time passes. The snow continues to fall.

Suddenly, her eyes open.

The sun shines brightly, causing her pupils to dilate. The light feels nice on her skin, and it takes her a moment to register that she is no longer freezing, instead only mildly chilled. Hesitantly, she braces her hand on the ground and pulls herself up slowly.

The snow is still cold, but for some reason it doesn’t numb. The feeling is pleasant as wind blows through the hair exposed from underneath her hat. Her foot moves forward when it collides with something solid.

With a jolt, she glances down.

Lying at her feet is her sled.

The condition it’s in is perfect. The metal bars that hold it up are no longer dinged or bent. Instead they’re straight and stainless. The wood surface is polished and smooth. Even the crack the sled had received straight down the middle is no longer there. Picking it up is effortless.

There is next to no weight on her bones now, it seems, as she sprints up the hill. The snow crunches beneath her boots loudly, and giggles spill from her body like a cup overflowing.

At last she gets to the top. No longer lost. No longer hurt. No longer afraid.

She feels the sled tilt downwards and rides with a smile.