Dense

This was his favorite time to run. Not anywhere in particular but just away/ When times got hard, when home was unbearable or something way bothering him, he would just take off.

There was no better time than to run during a winter storm, as the blanketing snow swirled around his frame, shrouding him amongst the sea of white. He loved how his lungs burned as his legs pumped, carrying him further and further away from his home. His chest stung as the air surged deeper and deeper into his lungs, awakening him, focusing him to push harder into the swirling storm around him. The inside of his nose felt brittle and the corners of his eyes felt like they were freezing - yet he felt protected - wrapped in his coat, shielded from the elements. The best feeling through was the snow swirling and lashing against his face. At times it stung his cheeks, turning them pink, sometimes making him grimace, but those moments only made it feel better when the wind would die down and the snow would caress his face softly, like handfuls of goose down were brushing against his skin.

At times he'd be afraid he'd lose his way, but thats why he followed the fence. He didn't depend on it but if comforted him to know it was there, ever present in the churning dunes of snow. Often times the storm would pick up enough that he'd want to hold onto it, letting it run through his fingers as he ran forward, but he knew he couldn't. He'd cut himself.

And that would ruin the illusion - that he was invincible.