Rick stared out on the white forest, a landscape of wonder and beauty, breathing in the cold air, letting his tired body rest for a moment. A weary body, tired from many days of travel through a never-ending landscape. A landscape he knew would end, but found comfort in thinking it would not. Slight snow falling down like the comfiest blanket, melting as it touched him like tender kisses.

He breathed out soundlessly, fog coming out through his mouth, out to join the white sky above. He stared at it while reaching down into his pack, grabbing a piece of jerky and his unfinished statue.

As he started to nibble on the jerky, a hand touched his. Looking down, he spotted Bob staring up at him with a wide smile, clawing his way up layers of clothing. Rick, gently, pushing his hand away, patting his head instead then pointing at him, telling him to stay. He then proceeded to grab a knife and start carving, Bob seeming fussed, but listened obediently, going down further into the pack, hiding away once again.

Rick focused back on carving, carving being done without much care, done for the pure enjoyment of it, for the fun of it. He still put effort in, but not the stressful kind. Not the kind that he’d been doing to his most recent statues.

No, Rick didn’t want the stress, the fatigue, the sense of dread to take the place of joy from carving. He simply made this one, for fun.

And it was, fun. He carved with a gentle heart, shaping it into a bird, freeing for his hands and mind. A bird that was full of thick feathers, thick for it was cold in these lands. Feathers he pictured white as the snow surrounding him. He hadn’t completed it, but had carved its shape, and was now working on its details. Details he took great care and time carving. He didn’t want to stress it; he wanted it to take time; he wanted it do be done, when it was done.

So, he carved, carved for a time that made his hands freeze, like putting them in cold water for too long. Only stopping his carving when he couldn’t properly grip the knife.

A sudden hard gust of wind rushed at him. Covering his face with two hands, he tried to block the unlockable wind. Breathing being pushed out of him, having to turn away from the rushing wind, searching for air.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it subsided. Rick sat with his back facing the now calmed wind, having to blink moisture out of his eyes. It had come so suddenly, that Rick had to take a moment to relax. But didn’t think much of it.

A big snowflake fell upon his cold hands, shaped perfectly, beautifully, being far larger than the rest of its snowy brethren. Rick looked up, noticing more of the big snowflakes falling, finding the scene picturesque, wonderful.

Breathing in and out again, savoring the moment, he relaxed his body. Then, after the moment passed, put his stuff aside, gulping down the meaty jerky and taking a sip of icy cold water. Feeling refreshed, feeling content, feeling cold. He put on some warm gloves, letting his hands rest within the crevices of his armpits. Then, with a soundless groan, he pushed himself up on unsteady legs, staring up in search for the warm glow, the warm blob in the sky, obscured by white sky, but not completely.

Taking a moment, he estimated the direction, and proceeded to continue walking north. Dodging trees, shuffling through snow, ducking under branches. Eyes set on the ground in front, sometimes glancing up to redirect in case of straying. Eyes set on his even breathing, on the small clouds forming, creating shapes that his mind reshaped into distant figures. Forming into things his mind could easily fantasies about, keeping it occupied, keeping it entertained.

His journey being quite the boring one, lacking any creatures, any passing things of interest, any sounds except for his own footsteps, any smells, any- anything. A journey that was perfect for Rick, giving him plenty of time to enjoy the environment, to enjoy nature as it was. Enjoy nature undisturbed by anyone.

A new hard wind attacked Rick, bringing with it hard packed snow smattering against his eyes. Once again, Rick turned around to keep his breathing in check, feeling his back getting pushed forward, the strong wind stronger than before.

Then it subsided just as quickly as before. But bringing with it more snow. Snowflakes fattened up, no longer in their beautiful forms. And seeing that, it brought slight worry to Ricks mind. Like seeing cloudy skies in the distance, like hearing a monster in the woods, like a child's cry in a forest.

Turning his head up, he slanted his eyes, realizing the former white skies had turned a darker hue of grey. Glowing orb now barely discernable, making the rest of today's journey hard, if not impossible if it continued to grow darker.

Rick had decisions to make. Either he stays put and find himself a shelter. Or he trudges on, hoping that these were but mere foreboding signs. A decision he would usually lean towards staying put and keeping safe. A risk taker wasn’t something Rick saw himself as.

A decision he also decided to take, for he did not see this snow as anything but the forecoming of a snowstorm. Even as his mind flashed him the image of a large, looming man with flaming red hair coming from the snow and capturing Rick, did he decide to risk it. Rather safe than sorry.

So Rick scanned his surroundings, searching for a suitable place to keep shelter. Finding his immediate surrounding barren of anything suitable. Trees to high or too low, pick-able branches either non-existent or buried in snow.

Then, interrupting his thoughts, yet another gust of high wind forced Rick backwards, pushed down on one knee to try and keep balance. Snow pounding his eyes like angry hornets, forcing Rick to shut them, keeping his hands firmly tuckered within the crevice of his armpits.

This one gust lasted for longer, Rick feeling his lungs gasping for air, icy cold wind and snow forcing its way down his throat like a brain freeze. But it did ebb away eventually, and Rick quickly pushed himself up on two feet and scampered off. Scanning every which way for anything that could be used as a shelter.

Another gust came, this one less violent, but seeming persistent, being persistent. Bringing with it snow upon snow upon snow. The snow being violently beautiful, like the illumination before a thunderous flash.

Rick covered his eyes, peaking up from the crevice of his arm, barely able to see through the blanket of white hitting him. It wasn’t violent; it didn’t force him back; it didn’t make his steps harder, but it made sight almost impossible.

He kept walking, one arm covering his eyes, the other searching for trees and the like. Wind sounding like bubbles underwater, growing in intensity as the wind grew harsher and harder. Colder and more unwelcome.

He kept walking; the wind kept on growing madder and madder. Like the meanest uncle, like the worst drunk. Rick kept walking, but it grew harder and harder, colder and colder. His mind feeling the onset of panic setting in, managing to keep a hold of it, keep it in check, but still lingering like the worst cold.

He kept walking, but stumbled, falling down on his hands and knees. Staying like that. Then pushing up, snow having searched their way in and down his back, freezing, cold. Once up, he hid every part exposed to the cold wind, the cold wind that had grown stronger yet again, forcing his head low, hands hidden and back bent.

He kept walking, this time just wanting shelter, any shelter, that would keep him safe from the harrowing wind. So Rick pushed forward, quickly making it to a nearby tree, huddling close to avoid the wind. But the wind changed directions as if having decided that it no longer liked Rick, pushing him from the side, making his barely shelter, neigh on useless. So Rick did what he did best.

He kept walking, eyes almost completely closed, seeing nothing but mere shadows, shapes, barely even that. His hands no longer keeping his eyes sheltered, having to keep them tuckered away for warmth, or else it to be stolen from the wind.

He kept walking, feet growing heavier and heavier. Snow sticking like the worst spiderweb, combining into one another, becoming heavier. then heavier. Sweat building up, only to freeze immediately, making him even colder, even slower.

He kept walking, for he could not- would not stop now. Stopping would mean exposure to the element, the element being cold and damp. A sure sentence to death.

He kept walking, feeling his feet ice away, no longer discernable. Hands icy, no longer discernable. Face frozen off, no longer discernable.

He kept walking, bumping into every tree he passed, no longer caring where he went, just wanting, needing some protection.

He kept walking, thoughts growing sluggish, like the snail running from the sun.

He kept walking, but it was slow, oh so slow.

He kept walking.

But then he didn’t.

He lay there, staring up into what he could only describe as dark. Breathing heavily, feeling as if the world was weighing him down. Thoughts hard to follow, hard to form. His whole body freezing to the bone, feeling like a walking icicle.

Then he fell asleep.

And woke with a start, looking around frantically, searching his immediate area. Finding himself within a small circle of crushed pebbles. His head barely within the circle, just outside the circle a wall of deep snow lay. Rick looked around, confused by the sight, then tried to sit up, hitting his head in the process.

He lie back down, rubbing at his sore head, limbs cold but bearable. Eyes closed to focus on the pain, trying to wish it away. And as it did, he looked again, realizing that his immediate area was quite dark.

He turned around, facing the wall of snow. Realising that the wind was gone, and no more snow falling. He slowly shuffled out from the narrow enclosure, shuffling against the wall of snow and standing up once the world was full of light.

As he stood up, he turned to see what had sheltered him for, god knows how long. Seeing a hunched, something, with snow covering its whole structure. Rick didn’t know what he was looking at to be honest. It almost looked like a crumpled tower, but not. It almost looked like a gaping maw, but not.

Rick moved closer, brushing off the hefty amount of snow on it. Brushing until he could discern anything. Discerning something. Brushing faster upon seeing it. Seeing more of it, brushing more. Brushing and brushing and brushing until most of all the snow had gone. And then he took a step back to marvel at what he was seeing.

It was a statue, a statue made of some kind of grey-white rock. The statue was crumbled by its legs, crumbled to dust and pebbles. Above it, where he assumed the statues knees would have been, were two big arms, thick like the strongest man, hanging down and leaning against the now crumbled knees. Arms hanging as if resting comfortably. Comfortably hanging from a big frame that was the statue's torso, big and hunched over, hunched forward as if wanting to protect something by its stomach. Atop all of it, sat a head, an armored head with horns the size of Ricks head. The head leaning down, shading its face from view, staring down into its stomach. The whole statue having the posture of a man enjoying a still moment in time as they pet their cat in their lap.

Rick kept staring at the statue, staring in awe. It might be cracked in some places, ruined by age, wear and tear, or wild animals. But Rick could see, he knew, that it was a true work of art. A masterpiece hiding deep within this forest. He saw it within the details; he saw it within its pose; he saw it, for it held so much emotion, so much care, so much love.

Rick stared at the statue, at the man, and felt his body fill with warmth, with determination. Rick felt, he knew, that this man, whoever he might be, was enjoying life to the fullest, sitting in this deep forest without a care in the world.

A thought that felt somber all of a sudden. Rick looked at the cracks on his body, at the wear and tear, at his crumbled legs. Rick kept still, letting the somber emotion roll through his body, feel it through him. Then he grabbed his pack, opening it as he retrieved a knife and a large blanket. As he grabbed the blanket, Bob tumbled out of the pack, seeming dazed by the sudden pull out of his tiny reality.

Rick looked down on Bob with some amusement, then clapped for his attention. Bob nodded and smiled upon seeing Rick, then smiled even further upon seeing the big man in front of him. Wobbling towards him until Rick stopped him and put him on his shoulder.

Rick then proceeded to walk up to the man, casting the blanket over his shoulder and wrapping it around his neck. Something that was trickier than he first assumed as the man was quite large, even lacking the legs. But he managed it, unfolding the blanket to cover as much of the man as possible.

He then proceeded to crawl back into what he now knew was the man's covered torso and searched it. Searching for a hidden place, a small place, a place he could place a rune on. Rick quickly found one, and proceeded to, gently, carve the uruz rune into place.

As he finished, Rick backed up and grabbed the man's arm, staring up at his hidden face, hidden within a armoured helmet, and opened his mouth. Opening and closing it as if trying to speak. Trying to speak words that, if one looked closely, would look like a thank you.

Then Rick let life flow within him, feeling a huge amount coming up from deep within, coming up to shoot out from his palm. But as it came, only a mere trickle escaped out, out into the man.

Rick let go, then backed up even further, giving the man some space.

And waited.

And waited.

But nothing happened. Still, Rick hoped this to be thanks enough, having realized that the man might have just saved his life. And for that, Rick would gladly part with a spare blanket.

He thought as he moved away, unaware that it had woken.