Vimes wasn't good at forests. They were things you saw on the horizon. If he'd thought about them at all, he'd imagined a lot of trees, standing like poles, brown at the bottom, bushy and green at the top.
Here there were humps, and bumps, and dark branches weighted and creaking under the snow. It fell around him with a hiss. Occasionally lumps of the stuff would slide from somewhere above, and there would be another shower of frigid crystals as a branch sprang back.
Source: The Fifth Elephant by Sir Terry Pratchett
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