Prints in the snow told of a man staggering to fight the fatigue that robbed him of balance.

Not that Robert and his men were any better; they could no longer run and were trudging through the snow, yet their spirits were up. They were closing in on their prey finally.

Familiar landmarks were everywhere now, Robert’s cabin passed as they walked downhill, Robert moderately surprised Pace had not burned the structure to the ground.

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Eventually the warehouse emerged from the storm, dark wood in the pristine white of the storm.

Mere steps from the warehouse door, Robert stopped and looked to his men. They were all gasping for breath and too tired to fight.

“Water?”

A man passed a wooden canteen and Robert drank thankfully, then handed the canteen back. “Stay here. Keep your weapons ready and watch for anything.”

With difficulty, Robert straightened and forced his tired muscles to relax.

He opened the door and entered the warehouse proud and dignified; as much as given the circumstances.