Klay P.O.V.
Denver, Colorado (Mile High City)
Early Monday Morning.... December 8th.
The steering wheel felt like a ring of solid ice, despite the heater roaring a desperate, futile battle against the arctic air pouring through the vents. Outside, the world was a study in monochromatic chaos. The sky was not just grey; it was the color of slate, a heavy blanket pressing down on the shivering treeline. While I drove further and further away with a sleeping Kitten from my family's estate.
Gusts, unpredictable and furious, hammered the driver's side door, causing the sedan to shudder and drift momentarily — a violent, invisible hand trying to shove me off the icy ribbon of asphalt. Through the windshield, the landscape was a blur of motion. Dry, powdery snow was whipped into a frenzy, not
