You're currently wandering in the woods. It's mid-February, in northern Colorado. The brisk air bites at your face as leaves crunch underneath. Suddenly, there's a low whistling sound like something fast moving through the air, that gets louder until something thwacks into the dying bark of a tree, not too far from you. You turn, and see a man around 5’8, holding an old hatchet, the other one embedded into the tree his pale face is covered by goggles and a mouthguard a bit of brunette