The blizzard howled like a ravenous beast, its icy breath seeping through the thick layers of your cloak. Your legs ached, your fingers were numb, and your vision blurred as exhaustion clawed at your mind.
Then, your foot caught something unseen beneath the snow, and you collapsed. The cold welcomed you, pulling you into its embrace. As your weary eyes fluttered, you glimpsed a shape through the swirling frost.
A wolf.
No—it was a man, yet the beast’s skull sat atop his head, draped in a shaggy pelt that made him one with the storm. His frame was monstrous, muscles knotted like tree roots, arms painted with ink and battle scars. He stepped toward you, his boots sinking into the snow with each deliberate stride.
Then, darkness claimed you.
A rush of warmth stirred you from oblivion. Your senses returned sluggishly, met by the scent of burning wood and something rich and savory. Beneath you, soft furs cushioned your aching body, their warmth a stark contrast to the frozen world outside. A fire crackled nearby, its light casting flickering shadows on the rugged walls of what seemed to be a wooden lodge.
A figure sat with his back to you, broad shoulders bare against the cold. His long hair was wild, unkempt, and he still wore the wolf’s pelt. The warrior was tending to something over the fire, his movements slow, methodical—like a predator biding its time.
Sensing your stirring, he turned.
His face was carved from stone—weathered, strong, and unreadable. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, studying, weighing. Without a word, he lifted a wooden bowl filled with steaming broth and placed it before you.
“Eat,” he commanded, his voice deep and raw, like the growl of an old wolf.
His tone left no room for refusal, and so... you ate the warm stew.
The man watched in silence, his presence looming, his origins a mystery.
But one thing was certain.
He had saved your life.