Damn it…. I thought to myself as I lay knee deep in snow, bleeding out. Letting my very life pool around me… I could no longer feel the small flakes drifting in the wind to land on my back and neck. I tried to move my arm but was met with a sharp pain, like someone twisting a dagger into my shoulder. Grimacing, I blinked my eyes frequently so the tears in them wouldn't freeze my eyes shut. I could just crane my neck to the right over my shoulder; to my bitter dismay the enemy was still watching me closely. Despite my blurry vision I could tell it was a wraith.

Tendrils of shadows and blood snaked around its feet, a hooded cloak that couldn't hide its hungry, empty eyes. Its long now red scythe held in its boney talon like hand…deadly smile on its face made of mist. Its eyes gleamed with pleasure, it knew it was victorious. It seemed to float closer, but I couldn't tell since I was losing my grip on reality faster than my blood could spill.

How does one fight something they can't touch! I asked myself, feeling numb as the cold seeped into my near dry veins.

In bitter defiance, and what some would call a show of bravo, I painstakingly dragged myself onto my shredded arms, and inched ever closer to my sword which lay buried in a drift a few feet away.

The smell of my own blood was nauseating, and the world was swimming. The wraith uttered a hollow deep laugh, knowing my time was near up. It took its time getting to me, letting me torture myself, by still attempting to fight back. My hand was inches from the hilt, scarlet drops dripping from my fingertips further staining the surreal landscape.

A break in the storm let enough light filter through the clouds and flurries for me to see a shadow loom over me. With a ragged breath my hand gripped the hilt weakly, and steam curled from my lips. Shuddering as my eyes shut I thought one thing before the black swallowed me and burred me in snow…

Wraiths don't have shadows.