No King of Mine

In these winter days the king of the north wind wakes up early to sling his stinging breath across the ground and between the buildings of this cold, overburdened city. we, the peasants of this arctic land prostrate ourselves before this polar lord in hope of a merciful breeze. but this is a murderous king. one who takes no life into consideration. one whose armies of currents burrow their ways into the bodies of strong men and leave them helpless and immobile. I say we must facilitate rebellion, and deny the north wind his pleasure! let him blow! let him do his worst! I will stand strong against Boreas! stare him down as he struggles to render me into a pile of ice and snow! my head will not bow, and my heart will not waver! A king is only as strong as his men allow him to be and we, his men and women will not follow a king who will allow us to look him in the eye with the flames of rebellion melting his icy grasp!