February 21, 1838 - Col. Whitestone

Another day on the tundra.
The mountains echo whispers of some forthcoming.
Twigs break all around me.
Maybe its all in my mind.
I've been moving south south-east on foot for days.
My lips, cut by the wind, whisper words into the trees like a prayer.
A prayer that I might die before another night in the cold.
Please god, please take me.

Haunted bitterness of the frontier.
My purpose is lost but my feet drag on.
Like a dog I wander.
The lonely snow catches on my tears.
Shivering thoughts like a venom in my mind.
Broken flesh aches my timbers to the core.
The cold black and white picture stained blood red in my hand.
Shaking at the thought of what life was like back home.

Maybe its all in my mind.

No more pine-kissed dreaming.
You're a man now.
Act like one.