Clouds of smoke wreathed the Little Missioner's shoulders as he followed the trail ahead of him.

It was comforting, that smoke.

It warmed David with a fresh desire.

His exertion was clearing out his lungs.

He was inhaling balsam and spruce, a mighty tonic of dry forest air, and he felt also the craving to smoke.
But he knew that he could not afford the waste of breath.