The weather didn’t ease, it kept throwing more snow and ice and eerie, phantom howls, until even Steve was beginning to feel his muscles locking in protest with every step. His boots were frozen, along with his socks, and the shield felt like a chunk of ice attached to his back. While his sense of direction was unfaltering, any other visual clues to his location were obscured. It was getting dark, and Steve shielded his eyes from the swirling snow in an attempt to see… anything.

He wouldn’t be able to find Bucky in the dark. He could barely find locate the tree that was four feet to his left. His skin was too cold to form a facial expression, but in his mind, Steve was frowning as he began to head towards the only landmark that wasn’t completely hidden by the storm and the fading light – a very large mountain. Hopefully there would be some cover there, a space that wasn’t rawly exposed to the barbaric weather.

Steve didn’t know much about operating in this sort of environment. Europe had cold and snow, but this level was blistering blizzard was reserved for more northern climates. It occurred to him that if Bucky had really been trained in Russia, he would have a vast advantage here. Steve trudged on, eventually having to pull his shield off his back and hold it in front of his face, and the first fleeting wave of anxiety pinched his heart. He could easily get buried out here.