Rick walked beside the tiny stream on the first day, meandering like the tiniest copper snake, drinking from it whenever the need rose. Rick having started walking once his emotions had simmered and the cold gotten the best of him, forcing him out on his journey.

The day being quite peaceful, quite wonderful, quite beautiful. Rick would even call it perfect, if it weren’t for the tiny, miniscule fact that he was freezing to the bone, his nether region hiding inside his body like mice after seeing a cat.

Rick’s entire body stood on end, hair like the largest trees, goosebumps underneath every tree. Rick did his best to get warm, moving at a quick pace, one that took a while to get up to, his body still being sore, painful and dull. But this came with its own problem of loosing water, water he easily drunk from the tiny stream but water that stuck to his body like salt on meat. The ball of heat in the sky doing its best to warm Rick, but the suns time to shine was waning, seasons changing like time moving, never ending and always happening.

Bob also did his best to help him, patting and rubbing his wooden arms against Rick’s bare throat. It didn’t help, maybe even made it worse, but Rick didn’t stop him.

Nearing the end of the day, Rick used the little daylight left to build a proper shelter, one that wouldn’t lead to Rick being a shivering wreck in the morning. A shelter quickly built with the barest of materials, shockingly warm for what it looked like.

Though it took longer than it usually would, his right arm still tender and uncomfortable, like a rare steak not cooked enough, like a cake missing its glace, like a warrior missing their spear. He tried to not use it, which he couldn't, as his survival depended on its usage. But still, the shelter was built, albeit slowly, and if Rick was good at anything, it was carving statues and building shelters. Although Sigurd’s home would beat his rack-shack shelter anytime.

The thought of Sigurd bringing painful memories to mind, memories he wanted forgotten, wanted left behind. Slowly easing into sleep, Rick shivered not from the cold. Bob doing his best to cuddle up to him, hugging his chest and exposed throat.

On the second day, Rick was reminded about his never-ending nemesis, the enemy of his life, the monster he’d never defeat, the pit of bottomless-ness.

His stomach, a stomach that screamed in frustration, a roar that was like the worst wake up call, like a priest shaming you, like the feeling of guilt after passing a homeless. Rick used the second day to scour the woods for edible plants or mushrooms. Far from being an expert, Rick didn’t use much energy to search, keeping close to the tiny river while moving slower to scan the woods with an amateurs eye.

Bob helped him, not being that helpful, but improving Rick’s mood. Even when the cold and his bottomless stomach did their best to make Rick’s day absolutely horrendous. The first day was like a miracle compared to this day. The first day did, at least, give Rick time to enjoy the beauty of nature whilst not being endlessly hungry. On the second day his eyes were glued to the ground, looking for everything and anything that could be edible, missing the beauty of nature.

To top off his already growing list of worries. Rick heard a loud, far away roar. One that sounded massive, like a bear had tripled in size and made its voice grow just as loud. Like a tiny mountain had learnt to roar, like if a waterfall could speak. Rick stopped as he heard the sound, waiting with growing unease in his heart. He knew it to be far away, but what if the thing, the presumed monster, came for Rick?

Rick spent the rest of the day walking uneasily, freezing to the bone, hungry to his soul, twitching at every little bird and drinking hastily. He would eventually settle down, tired from the long walk, moving far down the tiny stream and building his little shelter while settling in into a light slumber.

On the third day, Rick found himself staring at a thorny bush. Rick had a decision to make, his increasingly louder stomach forcing him to make one. Rick was staring at a thorny bush that held plump, big, red, moist, sweet and mouth-watering berries. Or, or he was staring at a thorny bush that held red, foul tasting berries that would force Rick into a bowl emptying spree that would leave him crawling on the ground, wishing for death.

One or the other, Rick had a decision to make. His stomach didn’t care either way, for to it, it smelled like berries, looked like berries and couldn’t care less what the consequences was, only wanting itself filled. Rick looked at Bob for any clues, seeing him smiling wide, poking at one of the red berries. Rick poked Bob’s cheek, eliciting a soundless yelp, then a flailing of his uneven arms, and a big smile as he saw it to be only Rick.

Rick decided, a decision sure to upset his stomach and probably himself later. He continued moving down the stream, ignoring the berries. His body was freezing, fingers long lost feeling and hurting like a thousand bee stings. The worst parts affected were his stomach and right arm, the cold like lava on skin, like shattering ice, like bathing in winter. Rick looked down on his hands, glad that it wasn’t showing signs of an icy death even if they felt like one.

But what else could Rick do, he has followed the tiny stream in hopes that it would lead him to civilization. Civilization meaning warmth, warmth meaning hot food, hot food meaning a content Rick. At least there was one thing Rick felt that he could be happy about, it being that his right arm was growing better. The discomfort that it once held now being more of a mild unease, like scratching a plate with a metal fork. The red line had dimmed to a bright pink, the arm itself being a normal skin colour, if not a little white, whiter than the rest of his body, as if Rick had never been out in the sun, looking like a babies bottom.

Just like the two previous days, Rick walked for the entire day, only stopping to drink from the cold stream, the stream growing bigger by the day but still being tiny. As night came, Rick built his shelter, his only respite from the growing cold, growing pains and growing numbness that was his body’s sign that it lacked strength.

And as Rick built his shelter, the same roar from yesterday echoed out, as if a thousand wolves were screaming. Being louder today, closer than yesterday. Rick hastened his steps, hiding in his makeshift shelter, hidden from the cold, hidden from the monsters in the dark, hidden from the world at large. Dreams of differing monsters crept up on Rick, monsters he fought and those still unknown to him. Bob doing his best to fight them off with him, hugging his neck to try and give Rick warmth.

On the fourth day, Rick stared down at his hands, red and slightly swollen, hurting like millions of hornets had stung them. It was a worrying sign, a sign that Rick couldn’t do much about. Bob wobbled up to him, staring intently at his hands, imitating Rick’s stare, reaching up and towards his hands. As he touched, Rick recoiled, the surprise of the intense pain being worse than the actual pain, still enough to scare Bob. Bob stared at Rick with wide, shameful eyes. Rick patted him carefully, gesturing that it was okay and placed Bob in his shirt pocket, Bob staying awfully still.

The rest of the day went on with little happening, the sun’s attempt at warming Rick being thwarted by grey clouds, ominous and mean looking, like a thief when seeing their prey, like a monster in broad daylight. Although it didn’t really matter to Rick, his body seemed to have already reached its pain limits and stopped forcing Rick to feel the pains of cold. He still felt cold, but it was numb, as if it didn’t exist, yet at the same time, it did.

The thing that felt worse was his growing exhaustion, like small stones were added onto every part of his body with each passing step. It was slow building at first, but as the day passed and as each stone added on its weight, Rick eventually felt as if he was dragging another body with him, like carrying full plate armour, like being empty of everything. His stomach growing painful, angry at not being filled, instead eating away at the meager stores of nothing that Rick had inside of him. Like a spider eating her own young, like a dog eating their own puke, like a cat eating their own hairball.

Rick even heard the monster again, this time far closer, awfully close. It even sounded to be in a fight, as if hunting prey. Rick couldn’t tell, nor could he muster up the energy to care, to feel scared, to attempt hiding. He knew logically that this wasn’t good, but why would he care, how could he care. At the moment, Rick just wanted to focus on walking, on his hunger, on the cold and his heavy body. He didn’t have energy for much else, barely enough energy for even that.

He finished the day by collapsing near a tree, breathing hoarsely, unevenly. As Rick sat there, staring out at his ever-slowing breath, cloudy like the greying clouds overhead. He felt tired, very tired, oh so tired. Why couldn’t he just sleep, why did he even worry about stuff? Yeah, why did he even try to walk. Let’s just sleep. Sleep the troubles away. Sleep. It. All. Away.

On the fifth day, Rick woke with a shock, as if someone had just stabbed him, electrocuted him, pushed him over the edge. Rick looked around with wide eyes, breathing heavily as if just running a marathon. He searched, wondering why he was so out of breath, wondering why he was so skittish.

But he saw nothing, nothing to indicate his apparent panicked state of mind. A rather cold wind blew into Rick’s face, bringing with it dots of white. Rick shivered and brought his arms up to warm himself, noticing something being in the way of him doing so.

Looking down, he saw Bob splayed out on his chest, eyes closed and seemingly sleeping. Rick knew better and wondered how long he’d been out, how long he himself had slept for, how long Bob had been “dead” for. Then Rick looked up again as he remembered the white, and blinked at the scene in front of him.

A wonderland of the most serene white, fluffy and the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen met his vision. He watched with bated breath, filling his chest with wonder, his mind with calm, his body with a tingling sensation that Rick couldn’t describe. Then a second later, he could, for it was the cold creeping in painfully. Rick had to look away, albeit unwillingly, to look down on his body. His stomach was still exposed, his right arm still rather pale, his body slightly covered in the white puff that he knew to be snow. What surprised him was that his hands weren’t painful anymore, nor were they red and swollen. They looked normal, perfect even.

Rick wanted to ponder the conundrum, wanted to dwell on the issue, wanted to think on it. But the cold crept in like a flying dragon and hunger like a creeping spider. He knew he had just gotten a second chance, and he wouldn’t waste it on idle thought. Instead, Rick stood up on weak legs, stronger than the day before and started walking. The tiny stream had frozen solid, his only direction as the heavily falling white puffs blocked off the sun.

He walked and walked, each step cold and painful. Each step bringing mind of food and more pain. Each step heavier than the last. But Rick didn’t stop, not even as night came, for he knew that sleeping would probably be his last. His mind grew weary, his body grew heavy, his pain grew strong. But he didn’t falter, he didn’t yield; He pushed on and walked through the white and beautiful landscape. Wanting nothing but the dull brown of summer.

Then he saw it, or rather stumbled upon it, the heavy white being like the worst fog. He stumbled out of the woods and into a land that he knew to be farmland. His heart skipped a beat, and he searched with his weary eyes. In the distance, he saw a vague shape, one that reached for the sky like a praying man reaching for god, and Rick felt relief.