His feet slipped on the icy trail, and the horses floundered, but they knew the danger and broke into a clumsy trot.

It was hard to keep up, but Festing must hold them to the track and steer them round a bend ahead.
The log lurched noisily across lumps and hollows, the chain made a harsh clank, and the wood echoed the thud of heavy hoofs.

Festing ran his best, and imagined that he was running for the horses' lives and perhaps for his.

He durst not look round, and could only guess where the log was by the noise.

The blurred trees rolled back to him in a thick dark mass, but he thought the gap he followed got narrower ahead.