A fierce blizzard rages, winds nearly throwing the traveler off their feet and snow like hail against their face.
They cannot see anything before them. Their fingers have lost feeling, hands unable to close.
Their thick coat failed in its duty minutes ago. Snow had gotten past the layers and now cold seeped into their skin. It filled their boots and snuck its way into their gloves.
A merciless thing, the cold. It never gives up. A ceaseless catastrophe to any unlucky enough to get caught in it. A cruel and uncaring thing. It brings down mighty men and beasts alike, a great balancer. A reminder of the fairness of nature. The unprepared and foolhardy die, while a few manage to find warmth before their time comes.
The traveler was neither unprepared nor a fool. They were simply unlucky. A sheet of ice was hidden under the snow, it caused them to tumble down a hill, snow entered through the hood, gloves, and boots. Perhaps they could've recovered, dug through the snow and lit a fire with the sticks and dry grass in their bag. But the blizzard wouldn't allow that.
So they trudge on, body numb and mind faltering, legs still pushing through the knee-high snow. His movement is the only thing keeping him alive, but that will only carry him so far. Sooner or later his body will be unable to catch up.
It will slow, in turn degrading faster as heat is lost. He will collapse within the snow he is oh so familiar with. He will become another body, lost and missed, but only for a few years. After that he'll be nothing but a frozen corpse beneath the snow. Something someone may happen upon in their own journey. They'll stare down at him. Some with pity towards this unfortunate soul. Some with fear, aware they will someday join him. Some with pride, as they stand while he is unable to rot.
Stolen novel; please report.
There was a saying he remembered. You never truly die until your body is naught but bone, releasing the soul from its container.
So…what of the frozen? Those who succumbed to winters past and present. Those on the highest peaks, those within blocks of ice, and those deep within caves in which none will find them. Do they remain? Tortured souls unable to truly die, trapped within a failed body, forever cold and forever alone?
Is that the fate that awaits him? He hopes not. He pleads to the stars above, desperately wishing that such a thing wasn't part of their machinations. How ironic it would be, becoming one of those he was meant to save.
For that is his purpose. To find the lost.
The cold, who never could never keep that fire going.
The impatient, who leapt too far and too early, finding themselves in a frigid hell with none to offer a coat.
The sorrowful, who cared not for the biting cold of the wind, only wishing for their other worries to end.
The prideful, who believed they could take on the world without realizing that an alone man had no chance.
The unprepared, who knew risks but could never understand them.
And those like him, who had their role thrust onto them. They didn't want to be here. But they had to. No one else could.
So they trudged on.
Through the snow.
Through the hail.
Through stormy winds.
Through frigid nights.
Through mountains high and valleys low.
All in the search of the lost. In search of those they needed to save. For if they didn't save another…who would save them?
Lost in his thoughts, the traveler didn't realize his pace had grinded to a halt. He didn't notice his knees buckle. He didn't feel the snow on his face. He couldn't pinpoint the moment he closed his eyes.
But…it was fine. This wasn't a horrid fate. He wasn't burned at the stake, raked across coals, torn apart, nailed to wood and left for the crows…no.
It was better. It was…warm. Strangely. For he couldn't feel the cold, not anymore.
It had numbed him. Numbed his body and mind. He felt no worry, no fear. No expectations lay heavy on his back.
So, as his mind went dull…as the heat left his body…as the…snow piled overtop…as his lungs heaved…one…last…time…as his…heart…ceased…its endless…rhythm…
He…
Was…
