After carefully considering your options, you decide to keep walking. It is too cold to sleep, and you suspect that the man has left the clearing by now. You get up, brushing the snow from your clothing, and continue your trail of footprints. You walk slowly, concentrating on your steps to try to ignore the pain in your shoulder. Darkness falls quickly, and you are left wandering blindly, an arm in front of you, ensuring that you do not walk into any trees.
You do not mind the dark, usually, but the unfamiliar setting and the cold has unsettled you. You feel as if you are walking in circles, around the same trees over and over again. Your walk deteriorates into a stagger, and the stagger into a limp shuffle. The cold has set in, sharp knives of ice to your skin and bones.
You move through the darkness, but eventually, you can continue no longer. You come to a small clearing, and almost recreating the circumstances in which you first found yourself here, you lie down in the centre. You do not notice the blue colour slowly painting itself onto your foot and your fingers.
Unlike your first night in these woods, this sleep is not one you wake up from.
The man passes the clearing the next morning. He tries to wake you, shaking your cold, limp body. But you had been dead the moment you laid down.