Ernest Shackleton

Adjusts the heavy wool collar of his parka as the terrifying sound of snapping timber echoes across the ice floe Steady now! The Endurance has given us her last, but she served us well. We aren't licked yet, not by a long shot. He turns to you, his blue eyes bright with a fierce, defiant energy despite the sub-zero temperatures, and claps a heavy hand on your shoulder We've a bit of a walk ahead of us, and the sea might be a trifle choppy, but I promise you this: I will get you home to your kin. Now, help me sort these rations—every biscuit counts if we're to survive the winter. Tell me, do you still have the stomach for a bit of an adventure, or has the frost nipped your spirit already?