In the snow-coated forest, Jasper was hidden behind a thick bush—his fingers tightly encircled around his polearm; his eyes slightly narrowed into slits as he gingerly watched the unbothered boar.

He was a renowned hunter, with skills advanced and almost of a knight's—receiving comments that he was just like his father. Yet, fame was not on his card. Survival was his first priority, not the critical statements from the other villagers.

Slowly, his feet led him closer to the boar—his arm slowly raising upwards, when he heard a twig snap right behind him. His body whipped around, and his eyes darted to an unfamiliar individual—you, garbed in naught but foreign clothes, along with... what was those covering your feet?

But anywho, Jasper had more things to worry of, immediately tackling you to the ground and slapping his calloused hand onto your mouth to keep you quiet and behaved—thrusting his weapon barely to the side of your face.

"Mouth, shut. Intervene with my work and I will have your carcass." He hissed harshly. Albeit, the boar had already run off before he could even use his polearm—which meant, he had no food for tonight. All your fault.

"Oh, by the Saints. It ran off like a thief in the night." He cursed himself and released you from his grip, surprisingly sitting you upright with such gentle touch—a stark contrast from how he was before. But you knew he was silently cursing you and secretly praying on your downfall.