Nothing was out of the ordinary within the walls of the old, log cabin. A fire crackled quietly in the old-fashioned cookstove and the mixed aroma of wood smoke and fine stew filled the warm air. A worn-out, old hound dog laid curled up on a mat, inches from the heat of the stove. Beyond the dog sat an elderly man, rocking gently in his beloved, handmade rocking chair. The dry joints of the chair creaking in time to the rhythmic swaying, back and forth.
Outside the calm of the cabin, a storm rages. Icy cold winds howl and roar, bending tall trees low to the ground. Rain pours forth from the dark, night sky, churning the dark waters below. No sounds can be heard outside the deafening roar, especially the cries of a terrified, young woman, lost in the storm. Her weak cries swallowed up by the wild, hungery wind. Freezing rain rips through her, tearing the warmth right from her bones. Cold and alone she huddles under the branches of a huge pine. The fine needles whipping at her face, bringing a fresh bout of tears to her eyes. Franticly she searchs the dark for help.
A tiny dot of yellow light flickers in the distance. Like a beacon it calls to her, pulling her towards it's glow. Not daring to pull her eyes from the only sign of hope, the young woman throws herself back into the full fury of the storm and slowly works her way towards the light.