Whiteout

Damn this bloody weather!

For six days we hauled amongst the vague silhouettes of mountains. Even when we couldn't see them, we could feel them, their powerful presence just beyond the veil. Ever watchful and curious, but largely indifferent to us whilst we humbled along, all but lost in a thick humid whiteness, like refugees seeking shelter through the cordite fog of battle.

Then on the seventh day we woke to find the war had passed over us. Replaced by a sun that shone reassuringly, as white dragons spread their wings and chased the retreating armies to the west.

The soft snow was still too fresh for our liking but we pulled through its grip regardless, our spirits high on the subtle colours and hues that the sun splayed about us. Yet even as our eyes feasted on this prismatic display we could see new gray armies assembling in the east. And soon they were upon us, slaughtering the sun and drawing the world tight till all it's colour had drained. Leaving us once again enveloped in the misery of this murky fog.

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