The day passed slowly.

I fell into an easy rhythm, placing one foot in front of the other while trying to maintain a steady heading. All the while, my gaze roved over the horizon, searching for a landmark, a shift in the terrain, anything.

As I’d come to expect, the falling snow remained a constant presence. It no longer bothered me as it once had, though. Either I’d become inured to the cold, or my winter suit was working.

Walking was easier too. Despite the added pressure from dragging the sled, my new snowshoes were up to the challenge and kept my feet from plowing through the snow with each step. All-in-all, trekking across the tundra had become almost… pleasant.

It was a thought that had me chuckling for hours.

Near the day’s end, I noticed shapes on the horizon. At first, the sighting excited me, but then I realized what they were.

Hyenas.

Perhaps two dozen of the creatures were shadowing me. I suspected they were from the same pack whose members I’d slain a night ago. For myself, I didn’t fear the scavengers. But my possessions, on the other hand… they would be vulnerable should the pack pay me another nighttime visit.

Hmm. I will have to come up with a means of securing the sled tonight.

Breaking for camp early that day, I set about making more rope. When I was done, I wove it together into a loose net which I threw over the sled. The contraption would not stop the hyenas for long, but if it worked as I hoped, it would give me enough warning to catch them in the act.

Running a longer piece of rope between the net and my igloo, I strapped it around my ankle. Then I lay down and went to sleep.

~~~

Right on cue, at the stroke of midnight, I awoke to a fierce tugging on my leg. Opening my mindsight, I scanned the area. As expected, there were some twenty feral minds gathered around the sled.

The hyenas had arrived.

Closing my eyes, I called upon my psi. This time around, I didn’t intend on leaving the warmth of my igloo if I could help it.

The moment my casting was ready, I released the spell, leashing the five closest scavengers to my will. “Attack,” I ordered the creatures.

They obeyed immediately, and a fight broke out.

The skirmish didn’t stay confined to my five minions and their victims, though. It spread out, embroiling the entire pack. And to my delight, it continued even after my charm spell lapsed.

Snug in my shelter, a small smile playing on my face as I listened to the pack’s snarls, growls, and yelps of consternation. The hyenas’ fondness for fighting was remarkable, and they kept at it long past the point I expected, dealing grave injuries to each other but, sadly, few mortal blows. Eventually, though, the fighting drew the pack away.

But that was not the end of the matter.

The pack returned three more times, each time as a unified group and with their pecking order reestablished.

That didn’t last, of course. Once I charmed a few of the beasts again, the hyenas fell into chaos anew. Finally, the pack got the message and fled into the night, never to return.

Closing my eyes, I went back to sleep.

~~~

The night’s encounter proved to be the most eventful occurrence for some time.

The next day passed without incident. And the one after that. And the one after that. And so on. And so on.

Soon, the days blended into one another, passing by in a blur. I tried to stay upbeat, but despite my best attempts, the harshness of the landscape and the sheer monotony of the days chipped away at my resolve.

Day by day, I grew more despondent.

Every morning, I stepped out of my night’s refuge, hauled my sled to nowhere, then went to sleep again. Over and over. Rinse and repeat.

A week after my encounter with the hyenas—or perhaps it was longer?—I was ambushed by a pair of snow tigers. The skirmish was hard-fought, but I prevailed in the end, and while the respite from tedium was welcome, it was all too brief.

Another week passed, and another attack occurred—this time from a half-dead ice sloth. Then it was the turn of a hyena pack. A leopard. Then more hyenas.

And almost without me noticing, my existence fell into a new pattern: days of endless trudging through the icy plains, interspersed with sporadic attacks from its inhabitants.

I was grateful for the encounters—they saw to it that my supplies were replenished after all—but otherwise, they did little to relieve my spirits. I no longer believed that the region I explored was any more trafficked than anywhere else in the frozen wasteland.

One spot of tundra was much like any other.

Lifeless.

Barren.

With nothing else to do but walk and think, I spent most of my days in fruitless speculation. Would I ever find the exit portal? Was there even a sector boss? Or was the tundra itself the sector’s true test? And why, oh why, hadn’t I questioned the gnomes more closely about the dungeon?

Round and round, my thoughts went. Regret heaped upon impossible questions and maddening what-ifs.

Then one day, I just stopped.

Letting the sled’s ropes go slack, I thudded to the ground, head bowed and listless.

Why? I wondered. Why should I go on?

I had no answer. I’d been avoiding facing this question for days. But day by day, it had loomed larger in my mind, growing more insistent until now, when I could ignore it no longer.

This is it, Michael. Either lay down and die, or…

Or?

Or get up and keep moving.

But why? Why spend another day walking an unknown distance in an unknowable direction? Why should I expect the next day to be any different? Or the next?

Where there is life, there is always hope.

I snorted. Hope could not sustain me. Hope could not keep madness at bay. Hope was a dish fit for only fools and simpletons. It was empty and absent of true sustenance. No, hope couldn’t save me.

Then get off your bloody arse and save yourself!

Chin knocking on my chest, I cackled, the sound devoid of joy. Like I hadn’t been trying.

Try harder, then.

Impossible. I’d done everything I could think of. I’d come into the sector with nearly nothing yet had managed to both feed and clothe myself. I had survived where countless others would have not.

Oh, stop singing your praises, you damn fool! You may have kept yourself alive, but you’ve failed at the most important task.

My head creaked up. And what task was that?

Finding a way out of the sector.

How could I do that? There was nothing to navigate by.

There is always a way.

Another worthless truism.

Admit it. You gave up.

I didn’t.

You did.

“I didn’t!” I yelled, throwing back my head and roaring at the uncaring sky. “There are no bloody landmarks!”

Then make your own.

“Make my own?” I howled with laughter. “Make my own? How would I bloody do—”

I stilled.

My inner monologue vanished, and the two dissenting halves of myself reunited. There was a way. It would be difficult, tedious, and quite probably pointless.

But it could be done.

Hope resurgent, I rose to my feet.

~~~

Constructing a landmark would be a huge undertaking.

There was only one material available in anything like the quantity I needed: snow. I had no true conception of the tundra’s size, but after traipsing across it for days, I suspected it to be immense—that, or all unknowingly, I’d been wandering in circles. I refused to believe that, though.

To build a landmark visible across the entire tundra would be… difficult—I would’ve said impossible, but in the spirit of my newfound optimism, I settled for something softer.

For one, I didn’t know how well any snow construct would hold up. Would it remain sound after months? And for another, if one of the frequent snowstorms destroyed my landmark, I would be back to square one.

No, I decided. Better not to build one landmark, but many. Something that was simple to construct but stable too, easily visible, and not too labor intensive. I know. Cone-shaped spires.

Snow cones. That’s what I’d build.

I could make them fast, and on the flat tundra, each would be obvious from miles off. I would need hundreds. Or perhaps thousands.

One way or the other, I intended on escaping the sector, and if I needed to transform the entire tundra into an array of snow cones to do it, then that’s what I’d do.