Cold. Bitter. Lonely. These are all words to describe how he felt. John was a kind man, was, as we all were, once. He knew he had to survive, and how, better than any man I'd met before. Perhaps it was his kindness though, that short sympathetic pause, which led him to his demise.
I was told it was Chernogorsk; others have reconciled numerous locations, but we'll say Chernogorsk for the sake of argument. John was walking along the coast, small drops of blood leaked from his backpack, or so I'm told.
John didn't like company, or more that …0