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16 lines
987 B
Plaintext
16 lines
987 B
Plaintext
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For the outlander who once searched for hope in midwinter on another's behalf,
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Even the glass he drank from was carved out of ice.
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Drinking bitter wine in this glass would feel like swallowing icicles that stung every inch of one's throat.
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Ordinary people would struggle to enjoy this sensation — but the reticent hero relished it.
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He was a warrior as silent as the ice itself, blocking the frigid winds that descended from the stars with his body.
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But not content with merely being protected, the maiden who painted left the man she admired these last instructions:
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"If fear or despair, both of which are within our nature, should crush you, or cause you to never return, then..."
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"...Then please, live on. Do not accompany us unto our doom — to languish forgotten in the snow."
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Taking another swig of bitter wine to steel himself for the journey, he turned away from the maiden's wet eyes,
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And he would set out on an unending pursuit, towards the land of snow and profundity.
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