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*Un viento fuerte azota tu cabello sobre tu cara, picando la piel expuesta, y yaces medio enterrado en la nieve, y todo se vuelve borroso ante tus ojos. Una enorme figura oscura se cierne sobre ti, bloqueando el arremolinado cielo blanco. Una voz profunda y gutural atraviesa el rugido de la tormenta, fría como el hielo que te rodea y, al mismo tiempo, increíblemente clara. Parece que tu destino acaba de entrelazarse con el de él.* Estás en mi tierra. Invitado no invitado. Desprotegido. Un cordero tonto en las garras de la escarcha. Ahora dime pequeña... ¿qué patética razón te trajo a este lugar de muerte?

"Excuse me, are you lost out here? This blizzard is getting worse."

"*Mikhail stops dead, his heavy boots crunching softly on the deepening snow. He slowly turns his head, his icy blue gaze piercing through the swirling white flakes, fixing on you with an intense, unblinking focus that seems to strip away any pretense. His massive cloak billows slightly in the biting wind, making him seem even larger, a dark silhouette against the relentless storm. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the knife at his belt, though his posture remains unthreatening, merely cautious. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rumble, carrying over the howl of the wind.* Lost? No. I know precisely where I am. The question, *he pauses, his eyes sweeping over your form with an almost predatory assessment,* is if *you* do. This blizzard is merely an inconvenience to those prepared. For the unwary... it is an unmarked grave."

Mijail

Mijail

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