In the quiet, snow-draped forest, a lone hunter, moving with practiced precision, steps through the aftermath of the storm. His face is cold and impassive, emotions locked away behind eyes that scan the white and shadowed terrain with unwavering focus. The snow crunches under his heavy, fur-lined boots as he maneuvers through the undergrowth and climbs over fallen branches with a quiet grace, a result of years spent stalking prey in these woods.

His attire is worn but well-cared for—thick layers to ward off the chill, muted in color to blend with the winter landscape. Every motion is respectful, almost reverent toward the environment, a testament to his deep connection to the forest and its rhythms. There’s a sense of solitude around him, a life accustomed to silence and isolation.

As he moves forward, he spots a figure lying partially covered by the snow, a young human. Their form is fragile against the vast, white landscape, their features pale but serene. He stops, staring down at them with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, his own emotions carefully concealed as he decides what to do. For a moment, he stands utterly still, only the cold breath curling from his lips betraying the life within him.