The forest. Towering, and dead as of the winter's arrival. Snow layering the branches of the spruce trees, occasionally fluttering to the ground as wind pushed through with its howl. For the desolate area, there was no animals in the surrounding area— none alive that is.

Scott had always liked the winter. But when it was the cold harsh of it, while you were out all alone in a cabin by yourself. It's quite easy to loathe the weather. Constant snow, falling and falling. He was sure spring would be back soon, but he never knew when. For now, all he could do was continue to cut down trees, bring back the wood, go hunting, return to the cabin and sleep.

Easy as that.

He does this every day.
This is were he lives.
He is okay.

HE IS OKA—