Any hopes of Heather passing him by and leaving him to his conundrum are dashed, along with any remaining shreds of reasonably coherent thought.

He!! Lost!!! Miriam!!!!

One more mark upon his damned immortal soul.

"She was in my hood."

Scar struggles some more against the snow currently trapping him.

"Do you have the--" Mustang is not the word he's looking for-- "The terrible fire horse?"

Is it the safest way to get him out of this treewell? No! Is it the most effective? Also no! But his gut has provided it as the fastest potential method that pops into his ever more panicked head.