He looked around, aside from his unambiguous, stark panoramic surroundings, he decided it was time to leave.
As a traveller he was accustomed to think that conquest of a foreign land, by his very two feet, to be rewarding. And he was in no allusions that it was. But, like the sharp winds around him, a thought had entered his mind. What if I had of died then? Now, this kind of blatantly obvious epiphany should have, in theory, occurred when this began. That was his problem, and his father never ceased in reminding him. Jack, what happens if you are killed? What about your wife? And my grandchildren?
These kind of attempts at discouragement came in sync with his leaving dates, much to his dismay. Jacks father was very good at using the lineage to dissuade him, the problem was of course that Jack wasn't a good listener. So this cyclical agreement between father and son had set in motion. And no doubt when Jack returned it would start all over again.

Jack began to feel the bitterly cold wind picking up pace now. Much of the charm that had lured him away from the safety of the shelter was, to his revelation, fading away now. So he re-gripped his coat, and heading into his little shelter, braced himself for an onslaught of acrimonious weather that just happened to be in his vicinity.
As he was heading back, something had caught his attention in the corner of his eye. He twisted around, and there, in a little outcrop of rocks to his right was a face. Dark and cloaked by falling snow, it disappeared. To converse with some sort of civilisation was to Jack a desperate godsend. He darted after the individual, once he reached the ridge of rock he caught a glimpse of movement far to the east, the snow was getting heavy now. So heavy in fact, he could no longer run, but struggle through blind.
His spiked shoes made him feel safe, the only worry was of course that it wasn't too far to go now, anything but a repeat of what had got him here to begin with, that would be to say very little, miraculous.

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