Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today the snow is falling beyond my window, marking our passage into the lean days of winter, when the gray clouds and frost without only makes us tuck all the more closely within, variably ensconced in our blankets and families and firelights. In this way does one year pass gently into the next, ushering us forward in stillness, reminding us that, for good or ill, time’s passage is unabating. Bundling inside cannot protect us against the procession of age; but take heart, for each winter presages light over the hills, and a dawning spring.
That’s more or less how I’m feeling as we return to Frieren, which has similarly just endured a long winter hibernation. The party’s impromptu cohabitation with Kraft demonstrated the show at its best, exploring through montage and attentiveness to incidental moments the crafting of unexpected personal bonds, how even allegedly idle time spent waiting for the weather to change can still shape our identities. The transformative power of such time spent was neatly contrasted against Kraft’s personal faith, his desire to have someone acknowledge the worth of these days, just as he has come to acknowledge the days of shorter-lived companions. But spring and partings are both inevitable, and our party now sets forth with renewed vigor, journeying ever onward into the wild north. Let’s depart!