The man sprinted through the forest, the white cover of snow thick upon the ground. He dressed all in black, easily standing out against the snow, and the bark of the trees. He wore a hood over his face, as if trying to conceal it from even the wildlife, as an unknown entity pursued him. He had come from town not long before. Wearing the same black attire he wore now, but with the hood down. He had a mane of blonde hair, and short stubble hair on his face. It was obvious he wasn’t from around the area, as most there wore hunting gear, had short black hair, and an overgrowth of black hair on their faces. They also stunk of booze, and vomit. An outcast, our mysterious guest would be, like many who passed through the shabby, broken little town. Unfortunately for him, his stay wouldn’t be that welcome, as he passed into the pub. He was cautious, but not nearly enough. Someone recognized him as a mercenary, a gun or sword for hire. Everyone eyed him suspiciously for a few moments, before the barkeep said, “We don’t serve your kind here” with a thick snooty French accent. The man nodded, and almost out the door and on his way, when a drunken hunter said. “Let’s get him!” he knew that his relatively peaceful visit had come to an end. He sprinted quickly from the pub, heading for the great forest beyond. The hunters gave chase, the drunken one trailing a bit behind. Loud shots from high powered hunting rifles were heard, until a deep cry of a human in pain could be heard. They left him for dead as his blood painted his life in the snow, as wolves howled at the moon.