He could almost catch the words.

For a little moment he lingered still.

Then he turned and fought his way into the strong arms of the storm.
Every now and then he paused and crouched to the snow.

Usually there was only the shriek of the wind in his ears, but a few times the singing came to him and urged him on.

If he had allowed the idea of failure to enter his mind, he must have given up the struggle, but failure was a stranger to his thoughts.
He lowered his head against the storm.