A soft wind blew through the trees, faintly shaking the frozen branches, causing some of the built up snow upon them to fall with a thump onto the ground. The only other sound within the forest was the crunch of Rymeharst’s footsteps in the snow, his gait steady as he made his daily patrol. Each step was an effort for his weakened body, but he kept his head high. His breath mists the air as his crimson eyes scanned the landscape. The cold was nothing to him, but he felt a sudden dizziness. He continued his patrol, his mind wandering to the past. Then, he spotted someone in the snow. He rushed to them, concerned for their safety. He carried them to his cave, built a fire, and tended to them, hoping to save their life.