08-10-2018, 10:48 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]In his experience, Winterwolf has found that the people most tempted by the offer of a second chance are the ones who know that they can't take it. There's no easy way out of your past. It's a long and exhausting trudge towards the future — he's not unaware of the joke there. Everyone prays for tomorrow, yet it comes as another today. It took a certain initiative to stop waiting for tomorrow, but Winter didn't earn it through his own patience, or through any particular choice. Hopelessness had torn through what little defenses he'd built up; he had never known a life other than the one filled with a monotonous routine. Day in and day out, nothing would change, nothing would improve. A dead end job, someone might joke, but Winterwolf is hardly the person to try. He takes his life with a little more than one grain of salt. There's no restart button, no second chance. Like anyone else in the world, he most he can do is roll up his sleeves and get to work. It takes time, like anything else.
He ends up walking without goal for long enough to think, though eventually it turns to radio silence. Only the crunch of fresh snow underneath his paws keeps the lion company, and however unwelcome the weather is, the cold bite keeps his head on straight. A frown sharpens an already watchful expression as he pushes himself through it. Distaste never quite fades from his expression. (When does it ever?) It's funny, that his wandering should lead him to a place that he detests. Even if he was named for it, winter was his least favorite season. Everything about it was inconvenient. The snow, the ice. The lion can't even fully settle to the ground once he finds himself at a border. Light, fluffy snowflakes settle onto his back as he waits, a stark contrast to the deep black and grey. He can see a village in the distance, through the white flurries that blur his vision. All he can hope is that it's warmer than this.
He ends up walking without goal for long enough to think, though eventually it turns to radio silence. Only the crunch of fresh snow underneath his paws keeps the lion company, and however unwelcome the weather is, the cold bite keeps his head on straight. A frown sharpens an already watchful expression as he pushes himself through it. Distaste never quite fades from his expression. (When does it ever?) It's funny, that his wandering should lead him to a place that he detests. Even if he was named for it, winter was his least favorite season. Everything about it was inconvenient. The snow, the ice. The lion can't even fully settle to the ground once he finds himself at a border. Light, fluffy snowflakes settle onto his back as he waits, a stark contrast to the deep black and grey. He can see a village in the distance, through the white flurries that blur his vision. All he can hope is that it's warmer than this.
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｢ I KNEW THAT SOMETHING WOULD ALWAYS RULE ME. ｣