The ground is like untouched silk, waving and changing shape under the guidance of the ever commanding frozen breath of its creator. The voice of this frigid beast is spitting insults and taunting me; therefore I turn my head away from the disagreeing words hiding my face from harshness of their meaning. Their meaning was all too clear and hit with a force that could not be ignored. "You are not welcome here," is what was being carried on the bitter winds, "Retreat while you still can." .
The warmth and comfort of a mothers loving embrace is soon forgotten and replaced by the stark reality of being wrapped in a blanket made from shards of broken glass. Shivering and shaking in an attempt to dislodge them from my pierced skin is futile to say the least. Plans were drawn and actions prepared and must be fulfilled in spite of the challenges to be overcome. Standing on the precipice overlooking the battle set before me, I reach for my weapon of choice. Battle scars line the blade as chips and deep gouges stand out prominently in the bright midday Sun. The shaft is twisted and bent as though years of service has made it a crippled old man. Gripping the handle as it has been done so many times in the past brings floods of memories pouring into an already numbing mentality. Through countless battles of the past I have wielded this, my object of deliverance. Many paths have been cut into the distant horizon through the frozen backbone of the beast. With every new battle comes the hope that someday this war will be over and that warm beauty and vibrant color will once again wash over the vast emptiness of this arctic landscape. I draw back my instrument of salvation, my beast slayer, the one thing that is truly capable of releasing my lands from the biting teeth of the monster itself. Striking with all the might of weary soldier just wanting to return home and shed these armaments that struggle to protect from every slicing blow, my tormentor's ice-covered flesh is ripped open.