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Éomeléo tramped on, extremely cold and bitter. The Misty Mountains were proving very difficult conditions to travel through. There was no sign of life. Everything was still and frozen and....dead? Maybe not, but certainly comatose. If he had companions this could perhaps be viewed as romantic surroundings. Not while he was alone, though. It was miserable and, above all, dangerous.
Walking along a stretch of path beside one of the huge mountains, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, Éomeléo heard a worrying noise. It was a loud groan. He wondered if he had been disturbing any giant bears (and really, really hoped that he hadn't). He wondered what it could be for a few moments, but then the snow started to fall. Strange thing was, it was falling only on him. He looked up and there was no doubting that the snow was coming from the mountain-top. The groaning got louder and Éomeléo realised that he was going to have to survive an avalanche. Defeated, resigned, he just hoped it would be a small one.
The snow came crashing over the mountain, a white wave airborne, and Éomeléo instinctively raised both arms to make a point in the sky. The snow bludgeoned him, and his arms took the brunt of the force; but at least his head was more protected than it would have been. By sheer good fortune, the avalanche was not so big. It lasted only for a few seconds, and it did not cover him totally. The snow was chest-high, and Éomeléo began swimming through. He knew that he had limited time, and he had to find somewhere to start a fire. If he could not do this, chances of surviving the night were low.
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