I was charged with the task of outliving my opponent,
Our benefactor whom I will speak no more than briefly about, has laid these orders before us and we will follow them, without falter.
Since I’ve seen absolutely no sign of my quarry in at least a half hour, and my camp and post is fully set, I may wander into the backwoods for a spell, searching landmarks and anything else that may aid my plight, I will carry the log at all times.
Slightly longer than I expected, took a few extra paths I discovered, still I should be within earshot of my encampment and have heard no sign of trouble. Perhaps, though, I should not underestimate my enemy.
Returned to camp, coldness and fatigue has set upon more quickly than expected. I will lay down to recuperate for a short time.
Awakening. My camp has been laid waste. Trenches have appeared as if by tectonics.
-The light takes care of its own, even when they wander in darkness
Made spikes for an elbow of trench. My defenses are nearly invisible. Good luck adversary.
4 days since trenches showed up. No sound, but the wind. No movement, but my restless thoughts. Paranoia?
A man fell into my east spiked pit. I watched the snowflakes gently cover his last horrified expression. He is not my prey.
2nd week. I’ve begun to wander out of the trench covers. It doesn’t get much lighter than twilight around this time of year.
The trenches…disappeared. What am I doing here?
Everything on this plain looks the same, I’ve passed several faces, with no names in my memory to stand by.
-What is courage to a death seeker? Whence does fear come if not from the end?
Strangely, I tire less. Perhaps this world has begun to harden my shell. I am stopping at a small stream, the first defining landmark I’ve come across in many nights. There are no days anymore, only nights. I must judge time based only on my internal clock. My resolve will not fail me here.
Crows follow me at night. I will feign my death…to set their trap. I must sustain.
The most godless meal I have eaten in my life…
-Unbeknownst to historians, here will go absolutely nothing, to change the
tides of existence
Three days by this stream, sadly, it does not run any longer. It has not frozen, but the current has halted. I cannot explain why I am overcome with such gripping sorrow about this detail.
I have taken to painting with a spear tip. Blood drips nicely through snow. It’s as if I’m the first man on the earth who has discovered the means to express himself. And perhaps the only one ever again to
-My quarry must go on to the next generation, somehow, for some reason I do not know, must save. My own. Brood.
Made an altar for the slain crows. Though they are considered the devils bird, no being deserves such a dishonorable death. Trickery
-How is there so much Hateful in the nonviolent?
Tears plague me, freezing before they can fall from my face. It’s like someone is taunting me, you will never be the man you searched for out here.
-My hand hurts, like a frostbitten oath nearly forgotten
Who am I?
Who sent me, who was I brought here to find…nobody.
Would I know if my task has completed?
No, I must stay vigilant. I’ve dropped my guard and my attention.
-We’ll see, foe, we’ll see whose wounds heal first
I have left the stream behind. Along with all the memories I had left. It’s time to move on.
-The task at hand seems far away now, like someone put it on the backburner for a minute, any minute now someone’s going to break me out of this dream life
I now stand before a white gale, seemingly a barrier to some sort of inner fortress. Unmoving. Bitter, cold, wind and snow. This testament of nature’s wrath beckons me,
And I cannot turn back.
I must reach the center now.**
-As feeling returns, so too does numbness, trading turns for turns, blow for blow, eye for eye, tear for tear
-There must be something in this mad storm