The traveler was not much for the cold. It dug into his body. It reached for his bones. The wind lashed it across his body. Its bite could not be avoided.
His limbs waved and danced, perhaps less satisfying to the limbs as to his mind. His transport was late. A clutter of penguins huddled next to him, dressed in mitts and hats and packs. He checked the time, impatiently. His arms were activated again, wobbling and shuttering.
He only wished to reach his destination. His meticulous behavior was voided by the transport today. He wished nothing more than to be poignant with his time. But he could not beat the late transport.
His teeth chattering, he doubted he could resist the cold creep much longer. He sought asylum in a near shelter.