394 Old Foe

Frey's metal boots left deep impressions as he stomped onwards. Over the course of a half-hour, the sled had become more of a burden to his shoulders than a help. It was slight, but he noticed that he was exhaling larger puffs of air. He did not care if he got a bit tired. He needed that firewood; the only problem being that there was not enough around. Stacked onto his sled were mere sticks and twigs. They would not last an hour. He glanced up at the sun, and grimaced.

"How did this happen," he muttered under his breath. Had he not trained to be stronger? Why was it, then, that it seemed like he could not protect those he needed to protect. He couldn't give a damn about Gwen, but little Arte. Now, he might fail Elero too.

"You must protect your family, no matter what." The memory of his grandfather's words echoed in his head, as if accusing him of weakness.