Months have passed since my last entry. I fear that I have been left solitary in the desolation of the battlefield, absent human contact for as long as I can remember. The enemy continues closing in, relentlessly searching for its next victim; its icy, bony fingers constricting the trachea of this world. No one is safe. Nothing is safe.
If you want to save our world, you must hurry. We don't know how much longer we can withstand the nothing.
I have developed methods to escape its frozen clutches and engage in stealthy combat, burying my skin beneath multiple layers of raiment. I believe that I am able to travel undetected for short periods of time. I must not remain exposed to this danger for long, as the all-searching eye will eventually detect my presence and reduce me to a hypothermic resemblance of the human form. My only hope is that my persistence will wear down my foe.
For five unbroken months, I have traveled along the East/West axis between my village and the commerce center. 11 miles I travel in each direction, at times with the wind as my ally, other times as my nemesis. Often, the clouds release their moisture in an attempt to reduce my ability to escape the Captain of Evil. I will not give in, however, I am afraid that I am losing the battle.
Bodies of water have developed a unique defense to the adversarial buffetings. Under constant attack, brave drops of the water tribes rush to the surface, sacrificing their ability to enjoy free motion. They attach with perfect rigidity to their fellow soldiers, creating an impermeable, thick skin of protection at the surface in order to protect their kinsfolk who lay quietly beneath. I am humbled by their selfless sacrifices.Their defenses seem to be holding.
But what is this? Who is this grand warrior, this luminescent orb shining from the heavens? Minions of the enemy's force flee before it. The blanched blanket of accumulated cloud droppings reduces form and flees into the underground rivers. The trees respond, attempting to bring forth blossoms, leaves, and life-giving sustenance. Humans, both young and old, exit their dwellings to witness the supposed victory. Smiles emerge upon their faces. But the enemy is strong. He whom I thought was our conqueror has, for unknown reasons, retreated. I fear he will not return. I fear I am slipping into madness. As I am huddled deep within the darkness of my protective abode, I can hear the sinister laugh of my enemy, relishing in his supposed victory. All hope seems to be lost.
It is as I feared. They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out. The shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out, they are coming.
In spite of the loneliness that is inherent in my form of battle, I must continue.
I share with you images from the wintry battlefield in hopes that you may be able to tell the story:
