Freedom from the Frost

It had been a great length of time since Miles had breathed, smelt, tasted the air. A long time trapped in ice, all for the chance of scavenging some dragon scales. How long has it been? Days? Months? Years? He had no idea.

Yet that was not as important as feeling the ice melting against his skin, the warmth of the air penetrating through the frosty layer and making contact with his frigid skin.

His nostrils inhaled the fresh air, and his brain kicked in. He regained his senses. The smell of blood and steel. The touch of air against his body. The thunderous sounds of a dragons flamboyance. The taste of his last meal, peas. And the sight of an band of strange misfits, clad in armor, robes, and wielding a diversity of weapons.

The shield he did hold in his hands shattered, of which he had forgotten where it was from. Maybe he grabbed it from a body before using it in a final stand, but like he cared.

He ended up staying in a crouched position, before tipping over and going unconscious with a crunching thud against the snow and ice.

What a glorious re-entry into the world.