and time it waits for no one

"Then run." The words would be whispered, softly and intimately into Maea's ear, and shortly after a truly bitter gust of wind would rip through her, bringing with it a blast of snow and hail. The sensation of something approaching - something big and grim and impossibly dangerous - would pull at her, urging her on. To go, to flee, to panic. Would she lose her composure? Or would she be as cool as the weather against the rising unrest? LUDO Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own