This is the 20th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
The snow-covered path was no help in finding his way out of the back-country. An hour ago, he thought it might’ve been, but now he stopped in his tracks—literally. The footprints ahead were his own; he recognized the lightning-bolt tread marks.
The tree to his right had an all-too-familiar black streak where lightning, no doubt, had struck it. He looked from the tread marks to the charred spot and smirked.
The path continued into a denser part of the forest a hundred yards ahead, and he guessed it somehow circled back. A loop. That was the only explanation.
Icy gusts of wind beat harder against him now, and he shrunk back against the tree to shield himself from the worst of it. His heel caught on something embedded in the snow, and he reeled. His hand caught one of the tree branches at the last moment.
Panting, he steadied himself and glanced over his shoulder. A strip of red fabric—the tail of a scarf—peeked out of the snow. He stooped to brush off the rest of the powdery snow and came face to face with himself.
Miles Away 