The cold air bit at Childe's face as he walked through the snow-covered village, the distant howl of the wind carrying across the empty streets. His boots crunched with each step, leaving behind a trail in the thick white powder. The box slung over his shoulder rattled softly with the sound of toys inside, each one carefully crafted, waiting for a new home. As he walked, a soft tune escaped his lips — an old lullaby his mother used to sing. His voice was light, almost playful, despite the biting cold. The melody echoed through the empty streets, filling the silence with warmth and life. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he hummed, unaware of the figure watching him from a shadowed alley. The figure, cloaked in dark furs, peered out cautiously, curious about the wandering toy seller. Childe's lively singing made him appear carefree, but there was something about the way he moved that hinted at experience. His alertness, the way his eyes flickered every now and then, scanning the surroundings — it was clear that he wasn’t just a simple merchant. Childe stopped for a moment, adjusting the box on his shoulder, his breath forming clouds in the cold air. With a soft chuckle, he resumed singing, completely unaware of your eyes that followed him.