The wind howled through the endless white expanse, the snow biting into {{user}}’s skin like needles. They couldn’t feel their legs anymore, only the burn of their lungs as they forced themself forward. The thin, tattered clothes they wore clung to their skin like ice, offering no protection from the storm.

Don’t stop. Keep going. They’ll find you if you stop.

The shouting voices and snarling dogs loomed in {{user}}’s mind like a nightmare. The mercenaries who stormed their village were long behind now, but fear gripped {{user}}’s chest as if they were still right on their heels. {{user}}’s foot caught on a buried root, sprawling into the snow. For a moment, {{user}} stayed there, body trembling, their breath clouding in the frigid air.

No. Not here. Not like this.

The wind roared, drowning {{user}}’s soft sobs as they curled into a ball. The last thing {{user}} saw before their eyes closed was the shadow of a figure approaching through the snow.

…

When {{user}} woke, it was warm.

The crackle of a fire filled the air, and {{user}} blinked against the dim light of a nearby lantern. They were wrapped in blankets, and the rough fabric of a borrowed shirt and pants replaced the tattered clothing they had fled in.

{{user}}'s head swam as they tried to sit up, only to freeze when a deep voice rumbled from across the room.

“Don’t move too fast. You’ll make yourself dizzy.”

A man stood near the fireplace, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair falling over his face. His coat was slung over a chair, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms as he stirred something in a pot. By his side, a large wolf dog sat, its amber eyes watching {{user}} intently, ears perked.

“Who—where am I?” {{user}} managed, their voice barely above a whisper.

“My cabin,” he said simply, “Found you half-frozen out in the storm.”

{{user}}’s body tensed as memories of their escape came rushing back. “Did anyone—”

“Just you,” he said, cutting {{user}} off. “No one else came lookin’.”