The howling winds and hostile blizzards made Rolan's journey extremely tedious. Walking through the vast patch of white snow was equally as difficult.
He pushed on; his final destination was worth the trouble, after all. Rolan didn't have any form of protection from the harsh cold; the constant sprinkles of the crispy snowflakes glued to his body until he resembled a walking snowman.
To make things worse, the environment was mainly greeted by weak sunlight; apart from that, calling the time "night" wouldn't be far-fetched. Not only that, a small spike in the air's density was rather obvious to Rolan, as though he were drowning in a deep body of water yet storing air in his lungs—a pretty odd feeling to describe.
Rolan had a suspicion he was being watched as well; a strange warm feeling kept tapping his neck as though his senses were being triggered. It wasn't easy having to deal with so much at once; thus, Rolan simply focused on his main objective.
