Pondering Winterkill.

I usually try to type something descriptive in the subject line, but this evening, my mind is blank.

And, after staring at this screen for twenty minutes, my mind is still blank. I need to speak, I need to release this; and I cannot, of my own volition. These damn lies.

A dozen brothers, each one alone. They look upon their gifts: Thistle, steel, blood and wine. Each gift is unique, and powerful. Each gift is coveted. They are necessary to withstand the desolate times, the Winterkill.

My mind is wandering. I know there is bourbon in the pantry, I saw it just teh other day. And yet we work tomorrow, and it is not advisable to drink as I would like on a work-night.

However, I take no issue with a cigarette, and it will not affect my work performance tomorrow. I believe I shall partake in that, instead.