Snows of the Furious Mountain

Curse ye foul fiends for the havoc you wreak upon us! Etheswitha cursed bitterly as she in vain tried to keep up with her main group of travelling companions. The wind battered and sieged through the chill cold of Caradhas the Cruel, swatting Etheswitha around endlessly. She smacked her head in her foolishness. This wasn't what she had expected! How was she supposed to survive this weather in nothing but cold armour and a steel Greatsword, whose blade could shatter at any moment?
With a dour look she set forth, grimacing each time snow flew into her face and blocked her sight. She had seen snow in Bree-land, at home. She saw snow and she hated it. Hated the cool temperature that it brought, hated the wetness it would bring, and hated the icy breath of death that it would proceed to breathe down her back, like the Predator would on her skin...
Etheswitha was wakened from her thoughts by shouting from her nearby companions. Her boots stood no chance of surviving the icy floor of the ground under the snow, so she tended to slip at random points and often fell face-down into a pile of snow, grimacing each time the cold hit her like a punch in the face.
"Curses!" Another song of colourful profanity escaped Etheswitha's lips as she tripped for what seemed like the tenth time in a row. She was weary, tired and hungry. For a moment she lay down and tried to relish in a few moments of rest.
The others! Etheswitha almost jumped to her feet as soon as she realized she was trailing behind. However, as her eyes opened to register it all she thought she had gone snow-blind. Instead however, she found whiteness constantly being hurled at her, so much that it was impossible to see. She groaned and blinked again, receiving more of the fluffy snow in her face, but given her current conditions she knew she had lost the group.
It was minutes, maybe, but it felt like hours as she aimlessly wandered around. Her faithful steed, Mandwere, wrapped in a thick blanket with reins securely tied to her arm, cried out balefully as it struggled to stand, wobbling on his legs visibly. Irritated, Etheswitha realized she had forgotten to take the horse-shoes off and pry the snow from his hooves, but before she could even react or say something to his annoying neighs, Mandwere cried out as he hit solid ice and began sliding down the mountain.
With a cry of pain Etheswitha was flung onto her back and began to see images of snow-flakes. Terrified, she began panicking visibly as she attempted to stand, only to tumble down on her back again. It felts like hours and days, days and hours, sliding and sliding and never stopping.
Then she had a second to notice white-capped pine-trees before jutting forwards and being plunged into darkness.