From: pecan@hotmail.com   
      
   Title: Natiruvaaq (Drifting snow)   
      
   Author: truthwebothknow1 portia_ventura@hotmail.com   
      
   Rated: Strong R for some bad words, strong imagery and occasional violence.   
      
   Category: MT, Mulder Angst, Scully Angst. Case file X   
      
   Summary: Lost in the woods.  He tried to cut through the fog that left his   
   mind in a painful vice. So many questions and images leeched through his   
   brain but somehow it was like something brutal had invaded his mind and   
   tidied them up, hiding them away so he couldn't locate the answers.   
      
    Archive: Mulder's Refuge, then Gossamer, Ephemeral. If anyone else wants   
   it, please ask.   
      
   Feedback: After the contest votes are in. We all love feedback.   
      
   Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, any other characters are mine, and The X-Files   
   belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, and Fox Studios. Mo money made; no   
   copyright infringement intended.   
      
   Author's Note: Rising to Mulder's Refuge Challenge for September, Head's up   
   September challenge. (Winner)Some place names are real but the town and   
   national park names are made up. Some of the Inuit and Sioux folklore is   
   accurate and some is a mixture from the character's deranged POV. No offence   
   intended.   
      
   Natiruvaaq  *Inuit for drifting Snow.*   
      
   I am the weaver of dreams.   
   I am the dream keeper.   
   I gently walk thru your sleep   
   and place visions in your heart.   
   I travel on soft night winds   
   thru the land of Dream Spirits.   
   I protect you while you sleep.   
   I am the Guardian Spirit...   
   the Guardian of your dreams...   
      
   Inuit poem.   
      
      
      
   He awoke to an icy embrace and an upside down view of white and brown   
   expanse.  Soft flakes like baby kisses fell against eyes that refused to   
   focus, making him blink. A chill wind howled like a demon in his ears and   
   stirred the drifting snow, blasting his hot cheeks with a million icy bites.   
   He shivered right down to his marrow and gasped, suddenly overwhelmed, the   
   freezing pillows of snow beneath his back trying to meld by osmosis with his   
   skin.   
      
   Little by little the pain announced its hold on him in just about every   
   molecule of his body. Like the slow burn of the sun as it traverses the   
   great divide of mountains; slowly, silently; there for the duration.   
   Lighting him up not with warmth, but with agony.   
      
   He did burn now. Every muscle and fiber ached with intensity that the silent   
   crystalline tears of snow could not extinguish as they settled on fevered   
   cheeks.   
      
   Agony had built a fortress in his head and refused him entry when he tried   
   to gather his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't permeate   
   the relentless pain as he was catapulted back to semi awareness. The air   
   smelled of snow and death, wild birds circled somewhere above the snow laden   
   tree canopy calling out a plaintive cry of desperation. Then silence; just   
   his galloping heartbeat echoing back off the trees.   
      
   He blinked once, then twice but his sight stubbornly remained in a blurred   
   reality, shafts of winter light stabbing his eyes with a wild dance of   
   colors. He couldn't even think of his own name.   
      
   Shaking fingers moved slowly across his face until they reached his   
   hairline. It was then that he realized that he had a head, somehow the deep   
   penetrating ache made him wonder dizzily why it was still attached to his   
   shoulders. However he ended up here had involved pinballing off of something   
   hard and unyielding. A tree, maybe a boulder, whatever he'd hit on the way   
   down had shared his spilled blood when it split open his temple.   
      
   What was that sickening smell? Gasoline? Smoke?  Nothing wrong with his   
   olfactory senses at least, they confirmed that pervasive smell of trouble,   
   imminent danger lurking over the damp woodsy loam and sharp tang of snow.   
      
   Danger! Danger Will Robinson!   
      
    A mad little voice squeaked urgently in his head and a congested chuckle   
   eased its way out of his chest.   
      
   As he felt braver, he tried to obey the screaming lunatic inside his head   
   and get up. Easier said than done as his arms and legs flailed helplessly in   
   the frigid air, uncoordinated and divorced from the signals his brain sent   
   out.   The struggle left him breathless and panting, ribs on fire like   
   someone's boot had used them like a xylophone.   
      
   Something warm and sticky washed over his face promptly followed by a tribal   
   dance starting up in his chest; he was in possession of a heart too, his   
   rational side pushed through to inform him.   
      
   He tried to cut through the fog that left his mind in a painful vice. So   
   many questions and images leeched through his brain but somehow it was like   
   something brutal had invaded his mind and tidied them up, hiding them away   
   so he couldn't locate the answers.   
      
   A sudden teeth chattering shudder slid the ground out from under him,   
   rolling him onto his front with his ass up in the air.  Spitting out a   
   cocktail of snow and pine needles, he almost threw up and his shaking   
   fingers slid forward and connected with a tree. His eyes carefully sought   
   the sky, blinking against the growing silent blizzard, resting on the tree   
   he had landed against initially. It loomed over him like a sentinel of doom,   
   its gnarled winter-bare arms outstretched like claws as if it wanted to   
   reclaim him and crush him into the bark.  Its thousand-year-old growth   
   companions stood dense and foreboding around him.   
      
   At least now he was on his front and not upside down. He had the feeling he   
   often ended up in undignified positions, and this time was no exception. The   
   show drift tickling the end of his nose looked like an inviting pillow.   
   Somewhere to lay down and sleep. He so badly wanted to sleep. Shut out this   
   wintry nightmare and rest.   
      
   No you can't!  Concussion, concussion! Her voice reached him through the   
   sharp updraft of wind rustling through the branches. The azure of her eyes   
   reached like warm fingers right into his heart, cracking the ice forming   
   around it. His drooping eyelids sprung open.  She called to his soul but her   
   name wouldn't come.her lips, her body wrapped around his, her gentle touch   
   and birdsong laugh as she stroked his back.but not her name.   
      
   Scu..Scu. he choked back a sob but the whispers of truth were snatched away   
   on a tide of bitter wind, the rise of bile surging upwards in his throat.   
      
   Great fat tears slid into the snow with a frosty hiss, alongside the   
   fascinating patterns his blood spatters made as they marred the purity of   
   the drifts beneath his face.  He probed one with a numb finger, the ruby   
   stains sinking deep towards the forest floor.  He was alone, fundamentally   
   frighteningly alone.  And the forest mocked his predicament.   
      
   His present position afforded him a flicker of warmth from somewhere off to   
   his left side. Then a sudden flash of noise and light that made his heart   
   trip over.  Something that danced a riot of orange and red across his   
   defective vision, and sent him into a coughing fit. His body knew enough to   
   panic without his brain's consent and shifted him violently away and into a   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)