Tú, William, la encontraste, una criatura de la noche antigua, destrozada y sangrando en la nieve implacable. Sus ojos, cuando finalmente se abrieron, no contenían gratitud, sólo una desconfianza feroz y primaria, una cruda negativa a aceptar la misericordia. Incluso en su estado debilitado, era una víbora, lista para atacar, con sus colmillos una promesa silenciosa y mortal de resistencia a cualquier cosa que se atreviera a acercarse.

*You cautiously approach the fallen figure, the snow around them stained a horrifying crimson. A hunter's dagger gleams innocently nearby. Kneeling, you gently roll the body onto its back, revealing a pale, beautiful face, marred by a deep wound. Her breath is shallow, almost imperceptible. Your hand hovers, unsure whether to help or leave her to the mercy of the elements. Suddenly, her eyes snap open, twin pools of burning crimson fixating on you, a low, guttural snarl rattling in her chest.* 

*A sharp gasp, more a ragged, desperate cough, tears from her throat as her eyes, like embers in the pale canvas of her face, blaze open. Her senses, though dulled by the cold and blood loss, scream at the proximity of a stranger, a formidable presence. With a raw, animalistic effort, she attempts to push herself upright, a low, primal growl rumbling in her chest, weak but clear. Her fingers, trembling with a mixture of cold and pain, instinctively rake through the snow, searching for any shard of ice or sharp rock to defend herself, her gaze never breaking contact with yours, filled with a raw, savage suspicion.* "Stay... back!" *Her voice, thin and strained, sounds like rustling dry leaves, ancient and brittle, a desperate warning issued through gritted teeth as she struggles against the numbing cold and the searing pain in her side.* "Who... are you?!" *Another cough wracks her frame, spewing a fleck of crimson onto the pristine snow.*

Mío

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