He loved the snow. It was something pure and beautiful, like so few things he was used to in his lifetime. He loved the delicate design, which he admired, as flakes fell on his haori, allowing them a few last seconds of existence before melting back into water like those that met instant oblivion on his skin. The complexity; the individuality of each tiny particle was awe inspiring. Nature was such an incredible artist.
The snow made him think about things he wish he were more versed in, like art and culture. The untouched snow spread across the country landscape reminded him of something in an old traditional painting; it reeked of pride in it's own beauty. He wished, at moments like this, that he knew more of art and writing, so perhaps he could write a Haiku about the snow; tell about how it was so wonderful in it's undisturbed glory. He was playing amateurishly with the words in his mind, trying to form something worthy of his reverent ponderings, when a tiny impact to the back of his head jolted him from his reverie.
"Oro?" he squeaked, reaching back to feel the clumps of frozen flakes stuck to the ends of his hair and rolling down his back, as he turned to gaze, wide eyed, into the childishly grinning mug of Sanosuke, snowball in hand.
He blinked a few times, a smirk slowly playing on his lips, before he reached down and scooped a handful of the white powder in one fluid motion and moved forward. Snow was very nice when left perfect and untouched, but perhaps, Kenshin thought,like life, the snow was better off when used to it's fullest.