You decide to run. Your fear of the Tume lands wins out against the prospect of medical aid. He tries to call out after you. 'Stop! Please! Wait! I just want to help you!' You ignore his shouts, convincing yourself that they are just a trick. He tries to run after you, but you are fast, even in unfamiliar territory. The wind at your back, you run and run, stopping only once, to catch your breath. You must be over three kilometre away when you finally stop running. Your legs ache, the pain not helped by your injured state. You sit for a moment, resting against a tree. The snow is soft comfortable.
You feel an overbearing sense of thirst come over you. The one thing you know for sure about snow is that when you melt it, you get water. You scoop up a small ball of snow, and put it in your mouth. It is bitterly cold against your teeth, but you persist until it melts. You swallow, and try desperately to warm your mouth back up, eventually succeeding. You glance at your shoulder. It is red raw, and inflamed. You are also tired.
You could do with some medicine for your shoulder, and you suspect that the ointment the man had in his bag was intended for injuries such as yours. You could go back. He might have waited for you. Running has tired you, and you are comfortable here. Sleep seems like a good idea, but you are exposed to any number of creatures here, as well as the bitter weather. You could continue to walk in the direction you were headed - there may be a town further afield, and it is still quite light outside.