Winter sat on a slab of rubble, gritting his teeth. He was struggling to pull something out of his leg, making his face twist in pain.
"Fuck!"
He had grey eyes and white hair, slightly grey at the roots. His clothes were tattered in rags, revealing an intricate snowflake pattern engraved into his left chest.
The snowflake pattern on his chest, a "rune", symbolizes winter. He does not know his parents, he naturally does not know his name either, so he goes by the name Winter.
He was trying to remember something, about them, but to no avail.
'It'useless to dwell on it anyway.'
Trying to suppress a scream, He straining his body to keep it in, a faint glimmer appeared from his chest...
"Damn it!"
There was an arrow lodged in his left thigh, he was currently busy trying to fish it out, to no success... it had barbed point after all.
And behind him was a trail of blood settling in the snow changing its colour from white to crimson red. Around him a vast plain of snowy fields stretching as far as the eyes could see.
'Bastards'
'Who could mistake me for a beast?'
As he pulled on the crudely crafted arrow, his face contorted in pain. The arrow lodged in his thigh had a rusted tip, if he wanted to keep his leg, he would need to get treatment as soon as possible.
'As if anyone would help a rat like me from the ruins.'
A stifled scream escaped from his lips as the tip of the arrow dislodged from his leg, the arrow seemed to have missed any important arteries.
He sighed from relief and tossed the arrow behind him and made his way towards the ruins of a medieval city, his home.
The path towards it was unconventional, since he needed to traverse the frozen lake, many people fall through the ice and die of the cold. Of course it would not matter for Winter who simply isn't able to feel cold for some reason...
'Time to head home.'
dead tired, WInter realy and needed some rest, he had been hunting for food in the cold for days.
Not that the cold bothered him.
'I'll need to come back in a couple of days to get more food... again.'
In the time he was hunting, his food supply had been emptied almost instantly to replenish his energy, and then he had to eat what he caught, and then get hungry again. It was a vicious cycle of struggle for food, the most scarce resource in the Barren lands.
Whilst gripping a small bag made out of cloth, containing slices of rabbit meat, and some wild herbs. he could not help but feel a bit somber.
'I'll need to stash this back in the Ruins.'
After a while of walking through the plains and birch forests, Winter reached the Frozen lake of Ruin. It was called Frozen lake of Ruin for no particularly special reason, just because it was close to them.
And most people had to go around the lake, not willing to risk their lives falling through to save some time, but Winter was in a hurry. He did not need to worry, really.
Winter is slim and scrawny, so he has no problems walking over the relatively thin ice.
As he made his way over the lake, the eerie crackling noises of ice under his feet spread trough out the barren landscape.
It was not new to him but the fear never let go of his heart. Winter had good survival instincts and they had never failed him yet.
yet...
Suppressing his primal fear, he began thinking about living in the Human bastions near the ruins, where people were safe and never needed to hunt, or risk their lives for moldy bread. One day he would make it out of this godforsaken place.
'Soon... i hope, this nightmare ends'
Every person in the ruined remains of the medieval city has dreams of escaping. But it's as if everyone here is chained to it by shackles of fate. The fate of Death. Not immediately, or sudden, but slow, agonizing, premature and inevitable death.
Everyone dies, but not like this.
Done cursing his luck, he had crossed the river and was finally able to lay his sights on the ruins, of which he has the pleasure of calling his home.
With a bleak expression on his face, he muttered:
"Home, sweet home..."