When I found strength filling my limbs again, my body was completely squished between the snow. So much so, that even though there was a small pocket of air next to me, it was a real effort to reach it and form lungs to breathe it in. But I managed.
The pocket of air was half-formed by the hollow in the trunk I so desperately tried to cling to, and by half—a magic membrane of force that was, undoubtedly, Pest's work. It gave me just enough air to fill myself with oxygen and use blind sight to find out how deep I was under the snow.
The blind sight didn't reach to the surface.
It was alarming. There was nothing I won't be able to eat through, and some snow wasn't an exception from that rule, but I still had to breathe, and the air I had would only last for so long. At least the cold only added to my strength, not sapped it.
