Thus, the New Year Eve was on the brink. The Snezhnayans are a pragmatic bunch. Living under the rule of the cruel Queen, entertainment and refreshment were the last things in their mind. They were taught to be tough and sharp, ready to rolled down anyone who could threaten their existence.
Unfortunately, Heins was not like that, cold and detached. His upbringing was that of a warm family. His father was a great man, like an unyielding flicker of flame that was set ablaze in the middle of winter, refusing to die down, emitting warm for the weary.
He never saw his mother, but he knew his cold crimson eyes were inherited from her loving ones. He had the opportunity to witness her face through a photo his father's acquaintance has taken with a Kamera.
She was gentle as the winter breeze, beautiful as the frozen icicles and as warm as the firecrackers.
Heins may be cold, but it would never encroached the heart his deceased mother and father had nurture in his chest.
As the snowflakes fell, the sun set in the west, and the aurora of Snezhnaya playfully swayed in the night sky. Heins looked up in wonder, his crimson eyes reflected their tapestry of gorgeous colours.
Snezhnaya is cold, but for Heins, the night is always warm. Because the gorgeous aurora sucked all of his resentment and his sorrow, turning him back to the wondrous, curious innocent child he once was. When he would giggle happily, dancing around in the snow accompanied by the gentle sways of the aurora.
He sat in the heap of snow, his cold, boyish face donned a light smile. He will turn eight soon.
It's cold, but it's also very warm. He hates some of Snezhnayans, but Snezhnaya was home to him. It was a wisdom taught by the life he lived, and Heins knew that only by accumulating wisdom could he live with carefreeness.
For a warm-hearted Snezhnayan, the best thing they could be granted upon would be living with carefreeness.
They are rare, but Heins was also one of the bunch.
Without strength, only wisdom could achieve similar results.
Heins brought out some flammable substance, a small firecracker and some firewoods chopped off from the near pine trees. He carefully dug out a small heap of snow, exposing the earth brown below. After setting up the firewoods, he pour some of the substance and placed the firecracker above.
It was not a very wise way, but Heins would make things he possessed worked, as always.
He snapped a couple of branches from the forest, which incite some tiny heaps of snow to fell, landing on his hair. Heins smiled slightly as he strolled around the proximity of the soon-to-be campfire.
After awhile, he grinded the branch against the straight one that he had latched onto the earth ground. With a smooth yet swift pull, a spark was ignited, activating the firecracker.
The firecracker left behind a trail of blaze which set the flammable substance on fire, effectively forming the campfire. At the same, he watched as the firecracker shot to the sky and explode in glamorous sparks, decorating the already star-filled night sky.
As he cooked the potatoes he skewered with some branches, bought freshly from the merchants, Heins enjoyed the warm he once privy to.
It's always a wonder how life could be upturned so easily. it's just been two years when he enjoyed the warm of a home. Now, he could only warm himself all by his own.
His father was stabbed by his own best friend, a man from Fontaine. There was a big reason Heins dislikes the Fontainians. The strict laws of Fontaine have taught them to be shrewd and disgusting. They really like to find loopholes all for the sake of teeny bitty interests.
Worse, these principles were brought along into their daily lives, ultimately forming them to be these two-faced, black-hearted black-bellied things.
Heins always wondered how a nation claimed to be the epitome of justice could be so corrupt. But for a chance to delv further, he could only wait until he's qualified.
As of now, he would be bidding for time. Bidding for his wisdom to be enough in order to face the world in a right outlook and perspective. His father taught him that one could easily be overwhelmed and infected with the diseases of the soul should one looked at the world wrongly.
These diseases including green-eyes, black-belly, two-faces, interest-driven, over-stoicism, over-pragmatism and many more. Without sufficient wisdom, one would be a disgusting wrench disguised as men and women.
Without sufficient wisdom, one could easily be controlled by these diseases. These diseases could be beneficial if controlled and maintained properly. If uncontrolled, however, the ultimate destination of their journey would be 'disgrace' and 'evil'.
His father was a simple man, unskilled in literature, so his words had always been boisterous and straightforward. He often said that life is already a riddle in itself, so why bother creating more?
Scholars would scoff at this, but wise sages would say that this is also a form of wisdom. Well, that's what his father said to convince the little him.
Remembering that man, Heins chuckled lightly. The skin of the potatoes blackened and crinkled. The boy slowly lifted the skewers and put the roasted potatoes on a fabric.
The sky is dark, but the heart encompassed the light within. The world may be dark, but Heins would like to infer the light only.
Ironically, his father despised literature, but the man adores poetry. He said poetry is also a part of wisdom. A form of wisdom that could turn heinous into beauty. Despair into heroism. Imperfections to perfections.
Poetry is to discern perfections in imperfections.
But his poetry has no depth. Heins, despite being a little kid back then, could immediately understand what his father wished to infer through his poet.
Sightseeing the elegant aurora, he would say, "Aurora is like a resplendent falling star. It would never get old no matter often it happened."
Was it bad? Heins chuckled. It was not bad. No, it was horrendous.
Still, it was nice now that he recalled it.
"Dad, I really miss you."
Heins narrowed his eyes, feeling the trailing wetness on his cheek. His face may be cold, but his heart remained true.
It's been a couple of years, but he still missed him. The breezes seem to get colder, his still boyish stature trembled slightly.
Heins could kill a couple of men with ease, but even he couldn't resist the longing of his own heart.
Thus, there he sat, alone in the woods, accompanied by the winter breezes and the campfire.