The hare leads you to a section of the mountain where a stream has frozen into a slick slide that descends steeply through the trees. You turn to thank him, but he is already striding into the woods, eager to be safe from the incoming storm. 

"Looks smooth enough, but there are probably rocks and sticks underneath that can slice us," Halpra announces.

"Risky," adds Tully quietly, "I say we climb."

"Wait," you venture, an idea forming in your mind. "What if we use tree bark as sleds? Would those protect us?"

Halpra looks at you, surprised. "That would work, yes." She unbuckles her hatchet from her pack and marches to the closest tree.

Fifteen minutes later, all four of you have crude bark sleds to ride down the chute. It's decided that Roth, the heaviest, will go first, followed by Halpra, you, and finally Tully. Roth launches himself down the chute, joyfully whooping at the top of his lungs.

Halpra winces, then growls “I bet every weasel in 10 miles heard that.” Scowling, she follows behind Roth. Gingerly, you climb onto your sled, touch the sprig of rosemary in your pocket for luck, and push yourself into the chute.  

It’s fast. Terribly fast. The wind whistles past your ears. Your sled careens crazily, rattling your teeth. Branches whip over your head, threatening to knock you off.