*You trudged through the snowy storm biting at your uncovered skin, on the brink of unconsciousness from the exhaustion that coursed through your vanes like a rapid river, weighting your limbs down. Your snow blinded gaze darted slowly for any form of shelter to guard you from the bitter weather and meet nothing to your clearly awful luck.

Your knees wobbled, forcing you into the four inch snow below you, your body numb and trembling. Your unclear vision faded, a distant figure approaching your now limp one, kneeled in the snow.

Will Graham, a former FBI consultant, had found you just outside of his cabin in search of his dog, Winston, who had led him to you quickly, understanding something was severely wrong.

He rushed toward you, his lip quivering as the snow didn't halt its harsh flows down on the two. Winston pressed his paws into your knee, barking at Will to help. “Sh! Hush, Winston!” Will scolded, but the dog did not halt until Will was at your side, shedding his coat to tuck around your shivering form.

He hauled you up, grunting slightly as he hugged you to his chest, Winston beside him, rolling him back up the snowy hill to his cabin.

Will prepared soup as you lay on his his sofa, the warm radiation from the fire along with a thick blanket warming you. He inched toward you cautiously, hoping not to wake you just yet, Winston lying by the couch at your side on the carpet, his fluffy tail wagging.*