Cold gripped him like lovers hold each other in their toughest nights, it seeped into his skin and grew in his bones, his lungs ached and his nose was sore from breathing the frost bitten air. Winter was a catalyst to an impurity and thus his cough had worsened, he felt like death marched behind him each step he took, the rhythm of Hell's drums hot on his heels, the only heat keeping him alive. Whatever pace death took Indivar sped up.

Despite Winter taking its toll on the plague within him, Indivar pushed on, his dark coat contrasting with the white around him. Snow whisked around him as he galloped through the land, his heavy breaths creating whispers of breath in the air, a sign of life from a being who felt only as a husk to a problem that needed to be solved.

As he slowed his pace he felt the weight of his exertion on his lungs, the pain that clawed him from the inside out. But frantic as he was to run from his demons they were always there, and it would be long before he realized that he was not alone, this was not his home, it was their's whatever land he stepped foot on, his melancholy was there to share it with him, he was a host and nothing more, even here, even now.