There was a rustling, a faint groaning in the distance, an icy air all around the snowy plain. The wind shrieked, howled and blew such a tempestuous force over the white expanse. Beneath the incredibly clear cyan sky, where no cloud could heave it’s bulky frame before the sun, it’s rays beat harshly on the snow and reflected in the onlooker’s eyes. The few trees were stark black contrasts to the dazzling white, and they dotted the landscape like black ink droplets on a smooth paper. A white layer lay heavy on the tops of the thorny trees, and their weight dragged down the leaves so that they hung downtrodden and downcast.
Here in this desolate and god-forsaken place, huddled against a weather-worn tree stem, was a lone traveller. He was on his knees, and dark were his thoughts and despair was at last upon him. The feeling of despair comes only to those who know their fate, and accept the inability to change it. So it was here. This man, the only living form to be found on these plains, had already ceased to remember the things which separate the living from the dead. In his mind, he had already passed on to another world and it only remained for his body to breathe its final breath and surrender itself to the elements.
