To the west lay the ocean and food, to the east the colony.
Separated from a group walking – waddling really – to the sea, a lone individual stopped and considered which direction to go from where it now stood.
Turning north, away from both the colony and the feeding grounds of the frigid Antarctic Sea, the penguin set out resolutely toward the mountains.
Once decided on its path the flightless bird was unhesitant, walking, sometimes falling forward on the ice and propelling itself forward with its wings, but never ceasing.
Past a baffled scientific team surprised to see the animal so far from its group, normal habitat, and continued survival, it remained focused on an internal and solitary goal, unheeding of the strange and odd-looking humans.
Marching away from food and its own kind toward certain death in the towering, unmerciful mountains at the End of the World, it nonetheless continued on its chosen course.
Death is at the end of every path. Best to walk that path purposefully.