There's nothing quite like a blizzard to change the voice of a forest. With every crack, creak, and deadly dry-cold timbre moan the easier it is to convince yourself that you are, indead, being hunted down by a giant with arthritic joints that sound like the loud shrill cry of rusty hinges. A giant as tall as the tallest tree, crashing through the forest where you wait and listen . . . is he getting closer?