Bitesize fiction. Almost poetic...

 Water. It freezes at 0°C. If it doesn't have any impurities. Then the freezing point is higher.

Ice. It has a bigger volume than the same amount of liquid water.

Deciduous trees. They lose their foliage every autumn and grow new leaves in the spring.

Wind. It... brrrr. It bites into your skin and brings tears to your eyes. It is the single soul that animates the frozen winter landscape. Running, flying, dancing to its own music. Almost poetic. Almost...

Bang! A gunshot, then silence. Bang-bang-bang!

I scurry behind one of the thicker trees, holding my breath, listening. Even the wind has stopped, seemingly listening too. Bang-bang! The shots are coming from somewhere to my left, maybe 50m away. A rifle, from the sound of it.

The wind picks up again, this time from the right. The shooter takes a small break and I hear rustling, faint, but still audible. He is trying to move closer in a loose circle, to get a better aim. Still going left.

I quietly slide around the trunk of the tree to the right. Now I see him, rifle muzzle turning left and right, he is searching for movement behind the trees. So far, he hasn't seen me, or he would shoot without remorse.

He is so focused on the trees, he doesn't see the frozen puddles that have formed in a depression between the trees. Just a little further... make one more careless step.

Crack! The thin ice breaks underneath his boot. The water is not deep, just enough to splash up his leg and distract him from his hunt. "What the hell..."

Bang! He looks up surprised, and brings his hand to his right shoulder where I shot him. He sees me. I see him. The wind is still again, waiting for one of us to make the next move.

"Ok, you got me, I'm dead." He finally concedes, pulls out a bright red scarf and starts for the respawn area. "I was this close, man..."

The wind whistles mockingly and this time I agree with it. Time to advance. To my next target.