She hurried on and stopped to bend down for a closer look. Her stomach squeezed. Blood stains spattered the prints. She looked up toward the lodge.

Henry? The wild boar? She stood and checked the sky in the direction of the lodge. No smoke. Was the boy too badly hurt to start a fire?

She took off at a run. Her only thought was Henry.

Her muffled footfalls pounded and crunched on the forest ground as she ran. Afraid of what she’d find when she reached the lodge, she hurried. She pushed dangling branches out of her way as she broke past them, sending a cascade of snow in her wake.

There was only one set of footprints, but the blood stains were getting bigger as she raced along.

Had the boy made it to the lodge? Would she find him buried in the snow?

The gusts of wind picked up as she came to the clearing. The snow was coming down heavily now, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet in front of her. She could deal with that, but it covered the prints and blood. If Henry moved off the path, she might not find him in time.

Exhausted, her legs and back aching, she stopped and clung onto a tree as she caught her breath. She didn’t usually go to the lodge from this direction but was close.

Moving on, she kept watch through the snow drenched branches and finally made out the faint outline of the lodge ahead. Relieved, she hurried to the building. She wiped the ice from her eyelashes and climbed the steps onto the porch.

Blood stained the lodge door. Without stopping, she hurried inside, ready to help the boy, but she stopped with legs-shaking, heart-straining, chest-tightening, fear.

An unconscious person lay face-down on her sofa.

It wasn’t Henry.