[member="Anastasia Stefanova"]
This was bloody awful,
Midvinter,
Plains,
Yan wasn't the one to be crippled by snow and cold, although his thinner, a bit more frail, form did not protect against the harsh environment as well as it would more bulkier specimen of Valkyri. That was because due to his tone, slender physique he had lower quantities of body fat, which in turn made his natural insulation more vulnerable to the cold, and the fact that he could not wear heavier furs to compensate for that, since it would hamper his speed and stealth abilities, he was left in the cold to just suck it up and deal with it.
Besides, if you live your whole live in heavy, although occasionally a bit light during Summer, snowfall you start to long to see what it would be like if it was hot just this once, at least for curiosity sake!
Anyway, carrying on with the story,
Whether Anastasia would be able to see an arrow fly from a treeline in the distance towards a nearby herd of Älk is unknown to this writer, but the chances would be greater she would hear the beast's bellowing as the projectile stuck its target, the wild cattle making few steps towards the plains before blood, energy, and indeed life has escaped the confines of its body. The large shaggy form collapsed into the snow, slowly turning crimson from the precise wound.
A black shape would drop from a tree in the nearby forest, a bow being slung over his shoulder onto his back, he moved in soft and surprisingly silent steps, his shape blending together with the shadows and perpetual night of the season as black cloak drugged behind him on the white, cold ground.
He would come closer to the fresh corpse, unsheathing a larger hunting knife bordering on status of a short-sword as he touched the beast's neck with his hand, feeling for signs of pulse. Creature's breathing was heavy and shallow as it clung to what it remained of it in this world, a quick, wet sound of blade piercing skin, muscle, and organs would ring out in the hunter's proximity as the Älk groaned and its breathing ceased. The hunter would kneel down, his knees compacting the reddened snow as he begun to mutter to himself, leaning in his forehead pressed against the creature's hide.
Once his prayer to Éar was completed he would stand up and look back to the forest over his shoulder, he would give out a sharp whistle that turned into a trill like that of a sing-bird, on the signal another shape broke through the treeline, a saddled Vhaanir would come to its masters side, hooves making the snow beneath it creak before it stopped behind the shape of Doctor Yan, the hunter now busy with butchering the pray before rot would start to set in.
He would look at the sky as he though he could see the sun start to shine through the clouds. He would watch the ceiling of their planet, taking in its grey, blue, and white shapes mixing together on the natural canvas, his hands covered in the blood of animal that would allow his own survival to continue.
Yan would not experience outer-coldness that night, he will have fat, oil, and fur to keep him warm, but his inner coldness remained, coldness that remained with one isolated, frost felt by those with only animals for contact on weeks, if not months at a time. There was something else he was longing to find, although he may not have realized so himself, and that was some valkyri contact.
