A boy clung to his life dearly, body buried in piles and piles of snow. The only items of the guy's body that was visible above the snow surface was his arm and his head that had a head full of jet black hair.
Blue eyes stared at seemingly nothing, twinkling lightly as a tear rolled down his cheek and froze, mid sliding. In this man's hand was a paper, flipping from the pure wind and slightly wet from the snow. It's started to freeze itself, though still flowing strong.
The man was unable to move anything hidden in the length of snow and was on the verge to be unable to move anything at all. His fingers were slowly trying to hold the paper tighter yet somehow let it slip by the winds, the paper flying through the air.
It would've flew further and further - the power of the strong winds being the cause - was it not for it falling down and getting caught near a tree limn sticking out of the feet of snow. It stuck into it, showing words written in fine cursive. It was too wet and smudged to be able to read, yet it was known the owner of such writing had done this with much care and love. They had written this for a great cause.
The wind had caught up, tearing the paper in two and flowing down into it's fateful path. It flew to great distances, far as the eye can seemingly see. Far enough for the hardly alive man to see it go in deep in sadness.
This man knew he didn't have much longer and even if someone came to save him, hypothermia was sure to come and haunt him. He merely tried closing his eyes, feeling the sting of the weak movement coming. His eyes were close yet stung.
His lips were parted, saliva surely froze. He had no feeling and soon he felt himself drift off to what seemed to be sleep, yet he knew wasn't. With the single last breath he had, he spoke in a scratchy tone, "Your..Warm Hugs..."