Wispy tendrils snaked toward him, but he skirted around them. The sun slid from behind a cloud; was swiftly smothered again. A sinuous rope of mist separated out from the main body and quested in his direction. Others followed, sprouting like insubstantial branches to block his advance and forbid his retreat. Shadrak backed away and then broke into a run. A feeler lashed at him, but he tumbled beneath it and kept on running, boots crunching through the snow. Others slithered in pursuit, and behind them, the entire carpet of mist changed its course like the turning of the tide. A tendril tried to trip him. Shadrak leapt over it, swayed aside from another coming at him head-height. He danced between two more strands, twisted and backflipped over a third, and kept on flipping feet over head until he made the tree line. Once there, he glided from trunk to trunk. Mist seeped over the roots, always just a heartbeat behind. Breaking into a sprint, he slipped and slid down a low bank. Vaporous threads curled over the ridge, as if uncertain, then began to worm their way down after him.
