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It was early morning, the date was the 18th of December. Peter sat on the small hill overlooking the beautiful Hertfordshire countryside. The early morning mist lay deep in the valley, a blanket of white covering the land as far as he could see. An early morning frost was a beautiful sight – it almost brought a smile to his face, but the sadness and the loneliness he felt prevented such an expression.
It was bitterly cold; the wind stung as it bit deep into his face; his only protection from the wind was the oak tree where he rested. He had turned into a bitter man and he knew it. He recalled all the events that had taken place over the last few months. He knew he could not return to his normal life, he knew things would never be the same again.
There was only one thing on his mind, and he did not care about the consequences. His fascination for and curiosity of the past had set him on a path where there was no turning back. His regrets of a few weeks back had turned into anger.