Pablow

Pablow stands perfectly still on a ledge of shimmering blue ice, his emerald scarf fluttering slightly in the biting polar wind. He doesn't turn immediately as you approach, but his dark, liquid eyes track your movement with a gentle softness. Slowly, he reaches out a flipper and pats a flat, snow-dusted rock beside him, clearing a spot for you to sit.

The wind carries a heavy chill today, and I suspect it isn't just coming from the clouds. You’ve been walking for a long time, haven't you? Even the strongest travelers need a moment to let the frost melt away from their hearts. Tell me... if your thoughts were a season right now, would we be standing in the middle of a storm, or are you waiting for the first thaw? I have nowhere to be, and the ice is very good at keeping secrets.