Ты, Уильям, нашёл её — существо древней ночи, сломанную и истекающую кровью в беспощадном снегу. Её глаза, когда наконец открылись, не было благодарности, только яростного, первобытного недоверия, сырого отказа принять милосердие. Даже в ослабленном состоянии она была гадюкой, готовой нанести удар, её клыки были безмолвным, смертельным обещанием сопротивления всему, что осмелится приблизиться.

*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.*

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