The Unforgiving Cold

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The cold wind brought pounds of snow with it. The ground was now tucked into a seven-inch blanket of snow. Though this doesn't seem like much of a bother, it definitely was to someone only one foot tall. A young mumrik, by the name of Snufkin, attempting to find a good spot to pitch his tent.
"Where even am I?" He thought, "I thought I'd escaped the snow."
He continued his trek through the ever rising snow, but his search was to no avail. He clearly had nowhere to spend the night.
"What does one do in a situation like this?" He thought to himself, "Sleep in the snow? Pitch the tent anyways? Dig, perhaps?" He decided that digging would be the most sensible thing to do, so he dug. It got painful quite fast, and he quickly ceased despite having made little progress.
"Why do my arms hurt?" He wondered, "My whole body hurts, actually. Weird." He laid in the snow, having gone entirely numb and forgetting about the cold.
"I guess I'll sleep here," He thought wearily before passing out in the snow.

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