The Wind

It grumbled and shrieked behind her, magnified by the quarry's throat. She turned, not wanting to turn, seeing the pillar of snow rise above the quarry, seeing within it a creature of deep red still masked by the white.

A flare, then. An eye. The vague outline of a head turning like a beacon; turning, stopping, and she knew it had seen her.

It bellowed.

She screamed.