As Bobo slowly walked along the burning, icy earth in an aimless direction, he felt a sense of hopelessness.
Here he was, with an unconscious child in his arms, and no way to take care of her. And soon after she died, he would probably be next. There was the possibility that others were here, and they would be willing to help a slave, but those chances were slim. At least, he thought so.
As he looked to the sky, which was coated in a thick layer of white clouds, he wondered why this had all happened to him. Why was he taken away from his fatherland, why was everyone inclined to treat him so unkindly, why was his value as a human now lost, and why was he here?
How did he fall into such unfortunate circumstances? Was this really how the gods wanted him to live out his life? What did he do that gave him this fate?
But, still gazing at the sky, Bobo realized his luck may have changed, for there was a plume of grayish black smoke drifting calmly throughout the air in the distance. It stood out dramatically against the pure white background.
Bobo didn't know whether it was some sort of civilization, or perhaps a patch of land could be burning, which would be odd in such a cold climate, but either way he didn't care. Either there were people nearby, or there were actually plants that were large enough to burn, which could be a lifesaver.
Now full of just enough excitement to provide him with some sort of energy, he took a deep breath and broke into a full out run.
The cold and his sister slowed him down, but at least it was something. The running got his blood flowing, and his mind working, and brought his spirits up. He held his limp sibling tight against his chest, and hoped that in his clumsiness he didn't fall on the icy ground that was rock hard beneath this fluffy surface, for that would harm them both.