Oh, how the days teased him with their passing pangs. Spending time in Elysium was doing him no good. Most spare time was spent fantasizing of what could be.

Despite the lonely individual’s best efforts to keep his spirits high, reality always came back to whack him over the head.

Then, Wendell made the decision to leave Elysium behind.

Every morning, following breakfast (which could barely be considered in a solid state), he’d think. Happy thoughts. Encouraging thoughts.

The thoughts tickled his brain, easing the ceaseless agony for just a moment. Just a moment was enough.

The subject matter of his reflections often varied, yet they all returned to the foundation of ’is today the day that I get better? 

’How greatly will I improve today?’

’What are some great deeds I can carry out in the next twenty-four hours?’

The thinking process aided in dealing with the mornings; for the mornings were oft the most difficult time of day for the wolverine.

Previously, in the mustelid’s prior home, daybreak would play out like this; at dawn, he would wake, run the gunk out of his eyes, and follow that up by going over all the mistakes he had made in life, and how better off the world would be without him. And, at times, he felt as though letting his life go to waste was the most appropriate route.

No.

That was not good.

A promise was made, at one point in life, to never allow himself to get in that condition.

What he needed was a breathe of fresh air. A breath of fresh, cold, Elysium-less air.

And he knew just the place.

-

Guilt stabbed at the mustelid’s chunky midsections upon entering the snowy domain. It was all his fault.

Were there any past Snowbounders about, he’d ponder. Likely not. The wolverine had run into Dmitri a few times in Sunhaven, and participated in a confidential one-on-one with Atbash - could any of them have made the same decision as he? They’re gone.

The sensation of snow beneath his huge paws, his sharp claws, it was one Wendell came to yearn for during his stay away from the frigid valley. The brisk sensitivity on his feet, against his bristles, it was enough to even make him smile- "Oahhhh", the mustelid groaned in discomfort. Oh yeah, his jaw was broken. And moving his maw beneath the bandages that enveloped his noggin caused much more harm than good. As reluctant as he was to admit it, talking was a thing of the past now - but not communication.

Familiar sights ushered an overwhelming sense of nostalgia through the male’s system. So it all wasn’t destroyed.

Ecstasy circling around his mind, Wendell sat himself in the chilly powder. He could imagine that his sight would be a surprising one; a rather-rare mammal (in the world of cats, dogs, and foxes), clad in a set of bandages, without a tooth to claim. And him trying to explain his story will be a strenuous feat. But, nothing ever came easy. Never.

Ready to face whoever was to greet him, the mustelid cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to call- ouch.