The last light faded from the sky, and the far horizon across the river vanished. Blackness fell upon him like a blanket, thick, impenetrable. It pressed against his face, suffocating him.
The notches in Owl Carver's talking stick, which the shaman had taught Gray Cloud to count, said that tonight the full moon would rise. It would make no difference. Gray Cloud would not see the moon in this sky filled with clouds.
A small spot of cold struck his face, then another and another. His nose and cheeks felt wet.
Snow.
The snow would fall while he sat here, and he would freeze to death.
He must overcome his fear. He must enter the other world. There, Owl Carver had promised him, he would be safe. Without his spirit in his body, he could not be hurt by the cold. But if fear kept him tied to this world, the cold would kill him.
He heard something.
A thumping and scraping behind him in the cave.
Something heavy shuffling around that bend. He felt his heart beating hard and fast in his chest.
There was something in the cave. He had smelled it when he first entered. All the magic in the world could not save him now.