I tear my head out the snow and gasp. The wind is dry and freezing to the touch. Blackjack hops in the snow towards me. I crawl out the pile and run. With a roar, he pounces. I fall forward and face him. His front leg is bent. He gets on his hind legs and raises it's good paw. It roars and points at his bent leg, "Mry reg!"

He cleaves down and I grab my pocket knife. He claws into me as I flick it open and jam it into his neck. He roars and backs away. It stands tall on it's hind legs again, he holds his paw tight on the wound. It's no use, the blood spurts too much. He squints and wobbles. He walks back with a low growl towards the warehouse, stumbling on two legs.

I look down and my shirt's covered in blood. I lie back, don't fall asleep! Get up! It's so cold, I can't feel anything. All hope fades. I didn't even live. What was the meaning behind my short life? I doze off as the light blinds me.