Turok manages to fall into the snow, a welcome relief from the batting of the needles across his frozen face, and he follows the scent of the wood smoke drifting toward him from the campfire, now some distance removed, on all fours, the worn warclub out as a guide agains the unknown. 

The snow beneath the tree is trampled and mounded from his excursion but he ploughs through,
until there are strong grips upon each ankle and he is yanked back, face flat against the cold ground!!!!