De Ja Vu

The snow clung to the fiery curls of the man's beard like the most tenacious burrs or brambles.  The blue paint on his face had long since cracked and flaked to be nearly unrecognizable.  Had it once been a bird?  Hard to tell.  His thick furs held much of the winter's offal as did his gloved hands and large scabbard.  As he walked south through the swirling blizzard, he half hoped one woman had moved on and forgotten him... and half hoped she would be waiting to give him the worst tounge lashing he'd ever recieved...   A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth, and he trudged ever south... back toward civilization...