Jim blew softly at the embers again and again, begging the fire to spring into life. Still only wisps of smoke rose into the air, and still no fire came. He decided to try one last time. If it didn't work, he would leave, try to find a village nearby, or a cave, or something. If he couldn't find them, well... he pushed the thought out of his mind. He had one more chance. He breathed onto the flames, and to his amazement, they began to spread in an orange flash of light and heat, spitting out sparks. He carried it carefully towards his pile of sticks, and had almost reached it when he stumbled on a root. He flung his hands out to stop himself falling, and the little flame flew out of his grasp and landed on a dry clump of bracken. Jim picked up a clump of snow and threw it at the fire, but it missed. The flames had by now engulfed a bare bush, and were reaching up to a nearby tree. Jim saw that there was no stopping it now. He had to run! But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, too terrified to move. Run! He screamed at himself. RUN! At last he was woken from his daze, and he turned and ran, away from the flames. If you know anything about forest fires, you will know that you cannot outrun one, and what Jim did was a foolish thing to do. But nevertheless, he ran, as fast as he could, and headed for a large patch of snow. He could hear the crackling of flames behind him, their menacing voices whispering in his ear. He could feel the heat on his back, and wondered if his coat was on fire. He kept running, past the trees about to burn to death, past the bushes oblivious to the flames. He finally reached the patch of snow, and stopped. He was panting like a dog, and his head was throbbing with exhaustion. He looked back at the fire, and wondered how the thing he had most wanted could be the thing he now most dreaded.