Bab 892: Winter Home

Michael walked a lot. 

He was used to it, perhaps more than anyone really should be. One foot over the other for miles and miles without a hint of wear, barely a sweat upon his brow… not that there would be anyway, what with the soft crunch of snow accompanying his every step.

What he wasn't yet used to, however, was the noise—that awful noise, blaring and grating ad nauseam.

It truly was nauseating.

With their harsh, blinding lights. The way they relentlessly shake the earth in their wake. Speeding away, leaving a buzzing disquiet churning in his head. It was maddening. 

To most of the things he'd have discovered, adapting and acclimatizing to this newfound way of life this world presented, he remained mostly indifferent to each finding, no matter how odd it may seem to him.