Booker DeWitt leans up against a tree in a snowy clearing. It was snowing. It was always snowing. Mr. DeWitt was waiting for his fellow Samurai. Both of the men were younger than he, but that was the way of things. The young shogun had taken time out of his busy schedule to train the two recent recruits to the samurai, and Booker supposed he should be thankful for that. But then again, they were both late. With a sigh, Booker drew his jacket closer to him, protecting him from the cold, and rested his chin against his chest, waiting in the snow.