...Forty Years Before                                 

In the course of one overdue twilight, the barbaric storm coerced an unfortunate, ashen soul into a bitter cave for cover.  

Behind the entrance, secured by a blind of vines that stretched from the rim to the ground; the aged with silver in his curls rest against the rough, uneven wall. Fasten around his too-skinny-waist are junks he had accumulated from his eight-month-long journey. When seated, he gazed out the direction he came in. His weary eyes analyze the declining clam-size snowballs that tried to follow him through the flawed curtain. Despite the mesmerizing view, he cannot help but bring about prostrating sighs. The durable man understood the cave will be the sole and last to witness his quietus; not his apathetic twin daughters nor his quartet manner-less grandchildren and certainly not his old pet cow, Moomoo.  

However, refusing to succumb sedately in front of the weather that booted him into obscuration; he poised against the rocky interior as he drifted deeper into absolute blackness. Pressing polar his sharp enclosure, his blistered skin was more sensitive than ever. Every touch evoked a bloody fresh cut. Defeated, the elder took a small break. Initially, he thought the deeper he went the warmer the cave would be. At a point midway, the mortal sensed the enmity of Winter. He is sure that in all decades he has survived, this day's temperature was the worst.  

Inside the lengthy pathway, the lone sound that could be heard were echoes of his weighty footsteps. Proceeding lethargically along, the old man found it draining to move freely in his worn leather boots. Potentially due to the frosty ground but every step was sticky. After some time the elder’s energy deflated and his will to prolong was crushed. Plunging onto the freezing earth beneath him, a bellow escaped his cracked lips when an unknown object scraped him in the dark. The mister panicked when pins and needles shot up his calf. Halfheartedly he rolled up his garment to detect the new wound, just under his knee, his fingers brushed against a wet substance.  

The poor soul began to sob. Today will truly be his last day. Fifty plus years in vain.  

On the verge of giving up, a familiar noise wakes the old man from his mortifying state.

So he can identify the sound, the darkness around him began to lift; now alone he is vulnerable to a bright light. The elder paused as he noticed his blurry shadow falling just over his lap.  

His wounds no longer bothered him as he stood up to face the luminescence. And as he has not gotten used to the light, the elder covered his Asian eyes with a raise of his forearm. Behind the ice sheets, he can make out the glowing shape of what is a thumping heart. Similar to looking at something magnificent kept in a display case, the old man inched closer. Once his nose touched the ice, a gush of wind blew right by him. Taken by surprise he hopped a step back to reassure his safety. Then faintly a similar sound drew him back in. It was there and then that he realized the utterance is coming from behind the radiant wall.  

With his entire body cuddle up against the berg, the elder lent his ears again. It took him less than a second to figure out what it was.  

The familiar sound of breathing.