The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, though biting wind and cold snow fell on his face. His determination far exceeded his exhaustion. It was time for him to prove, just why he had been chosen.
The snow was falling hard, and it became an extreme obstacle. Why did he have to prove himself in such harsh weather.
“We don’t choose the time of your task,” they had told him constantly, “We only have the knowledge.” Of course, they did. That was their excuse for everything, including for not giving him supplies. It was, apparently, against their morals to keep extra supplies around.
Growling if frustration, he put all his effort into climbing the steep hill. It was so tiring. He wanted to just lie down in the snow and be buried. But he couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.
Over the hill, he sighed in relief, only to look down and see he still had another one to go. Once he was down this hill, there was another one to get over. Was this really the only way to that stupid, little town?
Down he went, and then up again. It was about time for him to arrive, but he didn’t seem to be any closer than he’d been an hour ago. Looking ahead, there was still a vast expanse of white blanketed fields. With a sigh, he continued on.