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White.
That’s how you describe this mountain, mount Arytow.
There was a blizzard. A strong one. The snow embraced everything with a white coat. You couldn’t see anything except for a pure white.
But then, from the wood, there was a black dot. A tiny little black dot kept moving toward a small wooden house.
That dot was a human. A young man. He moved slowly and sometime got knock down by the strong wind, and yet he still got up and kept moving forward. One small, but brave human fought against Mother Nature’s rage.
Once he step inside, he removed his hood, reveal a thin, harsh face with one scar running from the left cheek to the chin. He started a fire and quickly removed the frozen coat before the snow start melting.
Nobody wants to catch pneumonia when you can’t go down the mountain to get medicine.
He sat down by a fire, removed the gloves and held his hand out. The fire reflected in a golden ring the man’s wearing.
That man named was Long.
He’s lived alone in this house for most of his life. He casually climbed down the mountain to get the goods from a small village and talk to the villagers, and yet nobody knows his original.
Not even him.
When Long was about to go look for a wine bottle to warm himself up, he heard somebody knocking the door.
‘In this weather?’ Long thought. He moved and opened the door.
Outside the door, there was an old man. He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and has a wooden staff. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat.
He wore too little compare to the weather.
The old man looked up and said:
“Hello young lad,” His voice is warm and somewhat comfort. But for some reason, Long felt a distant feeling that make him feel rather…. furious. “could you lend this old man a shelter until the blizzard gone?”
Despite the funny feeling he has, Long let him in.
That’s how you describe this mountain, mount Arytow.
There was a blizzard. A strong one. The snow embraced everything with a white coat. You couldn’t see anything except for a pure white.
But then, from the wood, there was a black dot. A tiny little black dot kept moving toward a small wooden house.
That dot was a human. A young man. He moved slowly and sometime got knock down by the strong wind, and yet he still got up and kept moving forward. One small, but brave human fought against Mother Nature’s rage.
Once he step inside, he removed his hood, reveal a thin, harsh face with one scar running from the left cheek to the chin. He started a fire and quickly removed the frozen coat before the snow start melting.
Nobody wants to catch pneumonia when you can’t go down the mountain to get medicine.
He sat down by a fire, removed the gloves and held his hand out. The fire reflected in a golden ring the man’s wearing.
That man named was Long.
He’s lived alone in this house for most of his life. He casually climbed down the mountain to get the goods from a small village and talk to the villagers, and yet nobody knows his original.
Not even him.
When Long was about to go look for a wine bottle to warm himself up, he heard somebody knocking the door.
‘In this weather?’ Long thought. He moved and opened the door.
Outside the door, there was an old man. He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and has a wooden staff. He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat.
He wore too little compare to the weather.
The old man looked up and said:
“Hello young lad,” His voice is warm and somewhat comfort. But for some reason, Long felt a distant feeling that make him feel rather…. furious. “could you lend this old man a shelter until the blizzard gone?”
Despite the funny feeling he has, Long let him in.