Footprints lead off into the distance, small traces on a sea of snow.

The air is crisp, sharp with cold. Puffs of breath contort, fog dissipating, like ghosts.

Flakes of white float suspended in the sky, swirling slowly in their descent.

I continue following the footprints.

The snow is forgiving, covering our misdeeds without discriminating, hiding our mistakes under a blanket of white.

I feel the flakes settle gently on my face, melting against my skin.
The spots are cold, the wind biting.

I reach the top of a small hill, now hesitant.

There is something waiting.

I don't want to see what's on the other side.

Crimson in the snow.

The ground is slick, saturated.

That's all I needed to see.

I look back for a moment.

The snow continues to fall, steadily, covering the ground, letting me forget.

I follow the footprints back.