Renderosity Writing Contest
Genre — Flash Fiction
The Track — Submitted by Rtesian

A cold gust blew the rose off her tombstone. Blew them off the other two, the smaller ones. Laying in the snow, they seemed redder. Like blood.
My hand came out its glove to wipe my nose. Cold made it run. The kind of cold that blasts down from the mountain. Three days ago it had run and hadn't reminded me of anything. Hadn't warned me either. Not out among the pines chopping for kindling.
My axe chunked into that wood. Chunk, chunk. The sound echoed off the trees broken only by snorts the cold forced my nose to make. I paused and turned, stopped and stared. My hand tightened, felt the wood's grain along the haft. Four paw marks marred the snow. A wolf's. The tracks glinted in the icy sun. Huge, still. Cold as the air.
I followed them. Why will haunt me into eternity. I will stand before the Lord, head bowed. Hear His damnation. I followed them, unaware the beginning's end approached.
The trail became a puzzle I refused to understand. The sight seared an image I can't remove. Four paw marks became two. Cold stabbed my heart and froze my soul. The track had turned back toward the cabin. I ran and plowed, plowed and ran. Yelled and warned. Only the door, banged by the wind against the log frame, answered.
A howl—cold, distant—mocked me. I stood in the doorway. Blood, scattered like rose petals, had already frozen. Pieces. Broken, strewn. Nothing moved.