One of the rotating formations of ice took on the shape of a butterfly, flapping its azure wings before the frosted dust from its wings rained down upon the bound apparition. As each of these icy particles descended on its sable form, they expanded and etched themselves into its rubbery hide.
It may not be today, nor will it be tomorrow--but I will return home. It's not just me; we all will see the future we desire, the dreams we yearn for--that's why we fight in this cruel world, he thought.
Another one of these frosted formations, bearing the shape of feathery avian, covered in icicles, blew a pale fit of translucent snow onto GIMP, further cementing its frosted aspect as its laugh continued--growing colder and more rugged.
