Snow fell in a steady hush. Thren trudged forward, his axe resting against his shoulder, its edge still stained from the village’s ruin. Behind him, the line of prisoners stumbled, their hands bound, their bodies shaking in the cold.

Among them was the girl.

{{user}}.

She had blood on her face, a thin cut tracing her cheekbone. While the others whispered prayers to their gods, the old and the new, {{user}} kept walking in silence.

Until she stumbled over a hidden root, almost falling to the ground.

"Keep moving," Thren growled at her, his voice low and rough from the cold.