Paul burst free of the the gnarled thicket which had impeded his progress for what had seemed like hours. Thick, leafless vegetation gave way to a steep, bare hill, dark and moonlit, covered with thick snow. They were behind him, Paul was sure of it. They were somewhere behind him, in hot pursuit.
Paul surged on, through the thick snow and up that blasted slope. His lungs were burning and his legs were almost numb with the strain. Above the noise of his own frantic breathing he could hear the plaintive, ghostly howling draw closer; he could hear the sound of bodies crashing through the undergrowth toward him. He could picture their foaming jowls and dark, flashing eyes, wide and maddened with hunger.
Any moment they would burst free into the open - and, yes, there they were! Looking over his shoulder, and feeling his innards dissolve with panic, he saw large black shadows flitting from the briers, onto the clear snow a bare half-mile behind him: one, one more, another, then three at once! They could see him clearly now, the pack, and their pace doubled. They coursed over the snow with ease, and with every stride they were gaining.
A minute later Paul's left foot hit a log, square on the toe. He cried out with pain and shock, and tumbled forward into the snow, a cushion of ice-cold powered glass. Without pausing to gather his himself, he scrambled to his feet and was off again, but he had lost vital seconds. He did not have to turn his head to know how close the wolves had drawn. He could hear them panting; he could hear their huge, snapping jaws.
They were not howling any more. This, they knew, was the end of the pursuit. The hunt was nearly over; in seconds the lead wolf would lean forward and snap through Paul's ankle. Their were tears in his eyes. His legs were slowing, and his chest was bursting. He could not go on.
Just then, as the wolves bore down on him, Paul suddenly remembered he had left the iron on at home. He cursed inwardly. He had left it in order to hang up his ironed shirts, meaning to return a short time later to iron some other garments, but he was distracted by the startling yet plausible series of events which ultimately led to his being pursued by starving, rabid wolves across a deserted and moonlit prairie.
"Damnation!" he cried aloud, and immediately his panicked mind was churning with images of singed fabric and a circuit board damaged beyond repair; a burn mark on the work surface, and steam damage to the newly painted utility room wall. "I'll have to buy a new iron," he thought to himself. His disconsolate heart sank further still when he recalled purchasing the present model - it was more than twelve months ago. The warranty had expired.