The silence of that early morning was sanguine. Her arm rested protectively across Cyran's back, hugging him to her. The scent of his hair filled her nose from where her face had buried in his hair, the steady rise and fall of his breathing brushing against her neck. Never would she want to disturb him in moments like this, where he looked and felt so genuinely at ease. It was more than enough for her to just be present, and quietly... indulge. And in that selfish way, her holding still was as much for herself as it was for Cyran. His contact had been the most welcome since they'd met, and that had only grown over the past few months. Truly, she relished this closeness with him.

But time must march on. All too soon, he stirred, responding to the noises resonating from the floor below them.

Despite being cozy and unwilling to break the spell of comfort and closeness they had woven around themselves, the vision of the man before her was more than worth the price of waking up. A little rumpled, his silver-black hair flowing down from his head like a waterfall, skirting running over his shoulder as he sat up; his eyes a little heavy from sleep, still, but brimming with a tenderness that makes it hard to swallow suddenly. In the pale light of the Northern dawn, he looked otherworldly, ethereal, breathtaking, as she beheld him. The seed of warmth that had long since taken root in the centre of her chest blossomed at the sight of his smile.

Dust and ash, what sort of higher being had she pleased to earn a look that serene, a touch that gentle, much less from someone as magnificent as Cyran? What wouldn't she give to wake that way every day.

Exhaling a slow sigh, her eyes close again for a few seconds of indulgence longer, as she turns her face towards his hand, into his touch. "Good morning," she murmured back, her voice thick from sleep. Her hand shifts to hold his against her face for a moment as she takes a long breath in and out. No matter what waited for them beyond these walls, this bed, this hand on her face, it would be alright. Her eyes open again, and she returns the smile, a little crooked, but deeply sincere, brimming with her own affection as she echoes it across their connection. "I did, thanks to you. And I trust you slept well?" there was a lilt of teasing in her own voice as she started the process of sitting up-- he had been fast asleep using her for his pillow and absorbing her endless font of warmth; she certainly hoped it was well, given that.

---

There was work to be done, though.

Getting all the layers on was always the hard part, but Del had made sure to pack the furs and wear them close to her body. As they walked, they would retain their heat, so when they made camp later that night, they would have an already warm blanket to add to their night out in the snowy, fallow areas of Frost Gale.

She would carry the bulk of their gear; it would be easier, as Cyran was far more manuverable than even she was, for her to carry the tent and other supplies on their trek while he was able to track and scout without the extra burden. Besides this, it wasn't even heavy... at least, not to her.

Though the promise of the man the night prior had not left her mind, after processing her panic and paranoia through sleep and Cyran's wellspring of comfort, Del found herself ready to face what lay before them. Come what may, she had someone at her side that she knew, without a doubt, that she could rely on.

Flipping her hood up and making sure the boots were laced, Del turns to look at Cyran with a nervous little smile. "Ready?"

“Whenever you are.” Cyran murmured warmly in response. He was traveling light - as much as he wished to carry some of the burden, it was true that Cyran needed to be nimble for the trip ahead. One never knew if they might be ambushed… especially considering the man that they’d run afoul of yesterday. Del’s panic had strayed his hand then. If they were to cross paths once more, the assassin would not be as merciful.

Though he would not voice it, Cyran lamented the loss of the warmth that had carried him through the evening. He felt every inch of the chill, even through the window, permeating his skin. He’d donned multiple layers under his cloak, but the cold would always persist. Despite the weather, Cyran looked forward to setting off once more. For the opportunity to drive his daggers into something substantial and work through the complicated feelings that had churned in his stomach. This was meant to be a trip to take their mind off of everything awful that had happened within the last couple of months, not bring them bubbling forth to the surface once more.

When it came down to it, Cyran would not hesitate to put Del’s life first. She mattered more to him than some strangers - and he wouldn’t hesitate to take out that renegade and his friends. And yet, as he stood there in the dark of their bedroom, Eameia’s parting words flitted to mind. “They may just be doing as ordered, or be desperate to gain the reward. They may be hunters…just like you. And just like you, they may have family to support.”

He grimaced at the memory. Lunala, what the hell is wrong with me?

Life had gotten all the more complicated as of late. Cyran relished the opportunity to get out into the wild, away from it all, and forget about everything. To just be, with Del by his side once more. To but all these grand, complicated things aside and simply take care of a threat that needed to be disposed of. This much, he could do without question.

“Let’s go.”

They were quiet as they made their way downstairs and turned their key back into the innkeeper. The next leg of travel as they made their way to the yeti’s last spotted hideout would be conducted in tents and hidden in crevices. A dangerous game to play in the cold of Frostgale, but there were hardly enough villages in the sparse, mountainous land of the northern country. The tents would have to suffice. The dwarven innkeeper bid them well, clearly suspecting nothing - even as Cyran brushed out to grab his hand while offering a tearful thanks and erasing his memory of the couple that had breezed through his tavern, and the man he’d spoken to.^[1] A necessary precaution.

And then they set out into the wild once more.

The day was cold, but not unbearably so - not yet at least. Cyran wondered if he should ask to share a cloak with Del, but she was already carrying so much for the both of them, and he needed to be quick in the event of an emergency. This cloak would have to suffice.

“The yeti was last spotted retreating a village two days from here.” Cyran replied, recalling the information from the hunt dossier they had received from a contact on their way here as they accepted the mission for the guild. “It shouldn’t take us that long… weather permitting. Or unless the yeti has made its way back south and finds us first.”

It was entirely possible. The bloodthirsty creature seemed to favor highly populated areas. Once it had eaten all it could in the north it was entirely possible that it would start making its way back down to the south where there were ample villages to plunder. Cyran may not have been a hunter of animals, as he’d confessed to Del the night before, but the principle was still the same. Observe the mark’s behavior, establish a pattern. And then once you knew where they would be next, you struck before they had the opportunity to.

If they ran afoul of the yeti or the renegades, Cyran would be ready.

---

1. Fade from Memory

Del follows Cyran's lead in comfortable silence, allowing him to handle the innkeeper and obscure their trail to anyone who might have reason to follow them. Though she was feeling substantially better about the night before thanks to Cyran's presence and care, she could not help but feel exposed as they leave the safety of the inn for the wild tundra of Frost Gale.

Despite her trepidation, though, she was sure She gives him a worried look, wondering for a moment if he would be cold-- maybe at first, but once they got moving, they would warm up considerably more, she was sure. The last thing she wanted was to weigh him down if he did not need any extra assistance.

"That sounds like a good plan. So, we stay off the main paths a little ways, see if we can locate and cut this thing off before it starts to head South, if it's heading that way at all? I think that is a solid strategy, I'm not incredibly keen on getting ambushed by this giant of a creature." she chuckles faintly, but the unspoken sentence was clear; or by anyone else, for that matter.

But the weather would not be so permitting, as they had hoped.

The snow was deep and made the walk difficult, but for the pair of shadows, they could find ways around their burden, including chatting with one another about whatever came up; the various children they knew, his apprentices, her mentor, what ideas they both had for tending to Shades Valley and her shop. Their voices were pleasantly muffled by the snow, creating a little bubble of silence around them save for the crunching of the powder under their boots. It was peaceful, easy to feel that they were the only two in the world. Added by the fact that there, so far, was not any visible trace of a yeti, or, thankfully, humanoids along their path, meant that for a time, Cyran and Del had the whole day to pass talking with one another. Getting to know eachother.

But as that time passed, the sky had been a familiar shade of grey for most of the day, but as the afternoon dragged on, it had shifted to a forboding, threatening slate grey. It was around mid-morning when she offered Cyran one of her cloaks, smiling softly as she tucked it around his shoulders. Through the connection of their rings, she could assess how he was doing, and the cold was really quite troublesome, nipping at their faces and exposed skin. The wind had picked up, sharp and bitter. Del grimaces at the sight of the darkening clouds-- she had been in Frost Gale enough times for enough lengths of time to know when a storm was a simple dusting of snowflakes, and when it was starting to become a proper blizzard.

There had been no sign of the yeti or the men who were after her. Tempting as it was to continue and try to make the most of the daylight or find any clues before the fresh snowfall swept them away, Del had been in the North often enough to know that this was bound to overtake them before they could get a proper shelter up. And then they would definitely be in trouble.

"We should stop and make camp," Del calls over the din, turning to look at Cyran as she shrugs off the pack. "Having shelter before the worst of it sets in will ensure we stay warm since we can't start a fire, not in this high wind. I-- Cyran, goodness, your lips are nearly blue!" She interrupts herself to step towards him, alarm creasing her features. Even though she had given him one of her cloaks, the wind had sapped the heat right out of them with time.

She could kick herself for letting him get so cold. Del herself was fine, a little chilled as the wind picked up around her face and ears, but compared to Cyran, she was basking in a summers day.

"I'm so sorry-- here." Removing her second cloak, and draping this around Cyran in addition to the one she had given him at mid-morning. There's a brief moment of fighting with herself-- direct body contact would warm him up faster, but if they didn't get the tent set up straight away, they would be weathering a blizzard without shelter.

She takes his hands in hers, warming them with gentle rubs, and holds them up to her mouth, breathing hot air across his gloved hands to start the process. "We have to set up the tent, and then we can get you properly warmed up."  After giving him one last squeeze, Del immediately gets to work on setting up the tent off to the side into the scrub brush that lined the sides of the road before they became what Frost Gale had for a forest. The foliage wasn't very big, but it would provide good cover as she set up the tent. It was one of the tents meant for two people only'; it could be a tight squeeze, but in this case, more space meant more heat loss, so the smaller, the better.

Having done this about a million times before over the years, Del finishes quickly, stamping the spikes into the frozen ground and pinning the canvas across the top to keep out the wind. Dust and ash, she was glad she didn't have to build a lean-to in these conditions. Still, by the time she's done, the urgent breeze has begun to turn into a howling gale, whipping sharp fragments of snow up as the storm truly began to start in earnest.

"Here, it's ready," She moves to Cyran's side, tucking an arm under his shoulder to hug him to her side at the waist as she guides him towards the tent. Holding the canvas flap open, she ushers Cyran inside, her expression full of concern for him. They needed to see this mission through, but she would not sacrifice Cyran's wellbeing for anything. "There we are, my Rogue. Are you alright?" she asks as she secures the tent flap behind them and turns to look at him.

Even like this, frozen and shivering, he was the picture of elegance. The beauty and ferocity of the blizzard outside only paled in comparison to him. Del kneels next to him, taking Cyran by the hand to hold it against her chest, near her heart, trying to work out if any frostbite had gotten through the gear to his fingers, looking gently into his eyes. "Food or warmth first?" she asks, trying her best to assess his needs. She was cold as well, but nowhere near the cold he was experiencing.

He understood the sentiment of not wanting to be ambushed. Cyran offered her a small smile he hoped was reassuring. “Don’t worry. I’ll watch your back if you watch mine. Yetis are adept at camouflaging in snow because of their pelts, but we won’t be caught unawares.” There was an unspoken reply to her lament - I know what to look out for. They won’t catch us by surprise.

It was unfortunate, though, that as the day progressed, the weather took a turn for the worse. Of all the roadblocks to impede their progress, Cyran should have expected snowstorms - and yet, they were so low on his priority list that this inclement storm somehow managed to take him by surprise. The longer they walked, though his heart was warm, Cyran’s body grew… colder. He shook off the sensation, forcing himself to trudge further through the snow. But with each step he took, his fingers grew numb and his limbs became stiff, incapable of warming themselves the way that a normal person’s ought to be able to. The beginnings of a blizzard were forming around them, and it was all Cyran could do to be swept up in the inferno.

He forced himself to keep moving - he had a feeling if he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to muster the energy to keep going once more. Only when Del came to a halt, assessing their surroundings, did Cyran pause.

“We probably should make shelter before the weather gets worse. Frostgale storms are vicious.” He blinked when Del suddenly called his name in alarm. She pulled herself closer to him, shrugging off one of her layers to sling over his shoulders. Cyran shook his head, trying to worm out of her grip before she could surrender one of her precious cloaks.

“I’m fine, I promise… keep your cloak.”

A statement that was undercut by his chattering teeth.

She stubbornly insisted on securing the extra cloak around his shoulders, and grabbing his hand between hers. She didn’t hesitate to breathe warm air onto him in an attempt to heat him up. Even the scant contact of searing heat was like a temporary reprieve for his hand, until she pulled away to start making the tent.

“Oh, let me help…”

But Del moved like clockwork, faster than he could while he was chilled from the elements. All he could do was watch helplessly from the sidelines while Del set out the stakes and pitched the tent before ushering Cyran inside. He obeyed, too miserable to protest this gentle treatment. Only after Cyran was inside did Del pull herself in, shutting them out from the elements outside. Avasha’s frozen tears battered at the tent, but he was already beginning to recover, sequestered within this small pocket of safety. And Del was gazing at him with such worry, as if he were made of frozen glass that would shatter at any moment. It was an entirely different feeling, to possess all these sharp edges and treated like something that needed to be cradled gently. He was still not sure if he liked it or not.

But if Del was looking at him like that, the warm fire of the hearth glinting in the reflection of amber eyes as she made sure that Cyran was alright, how bad could it truly be?

He nodded, pulling the cloaks closer over himself. Warming the arms was just a temporary solution, he needed to make sure to protect his chest…

“I am fine, my fighter.” He offered her a small smile. “I am not a rusty dagger that will snap at the slightest exposure to the elements. You should take care of yourself.” He was accustomed to keeping himself warm - years of solitary travel had taught him how to take care of himself. Nature was an effective teacher. But now that he spent more of his days on the road with others, ensuring the safety and well-being of others first was second nature to him. And yet, receiving the same treatment in return was jarring, to say the least.

Del merely brushed his protests aside and moved closer to him. She grabbed his hand between her own firm, calloused ones, and held his hand to her chest - her core. Cyran let out a squeak of protest, face beginning to grow hot for entirely different reasons. At this proximity Cyran could see all the little nicks and scars along her skin, a constellation of life, pain and survival. She was, as he’d said before, a fighter. In all the time he’d known her she blazed forward with determination and heat, and this moment was no different. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, as if Cyran was worth sharing that heat with.

His throat felt dry.

“… Warmth first.”

He was not entirely hungry, nor did he think that he could bear to be parted right now from her side. He shouldn’t, really - he’d only just made the decision to formally court her, taken that leap, and she was someone who deserved respect. She deserved for him to do this right. And yet, here he was, sharing a bed and a tent with her.

But gods, he was too cold to care.

He bit his lip, his hand still pressed gently against Del’s heart. He could feel the gentle, steady thrum of her chest against his own hand. Hands that had been in this exact position poised with a knife ready to silence that heartbeat for good - now, treated with such love as Del ensured that the frostbite would not set in to his limbs.

“Or, perhaps we should eat, and then…” It was a monumental task to avert his gaze from that beauty, but he could not make this request while staring directly at her. “It might be practical for us to share a blanket. I lack much body heat to contribute, but we should conserve all we are able.”

A daring thing to suggest, but a practical one. The unorthodox situation aside, they were both survivalists. They knew what was necessary to survive the night. That was what this was. Taking care of one another and sharing resources.

And despite the tempest blazing outside, Del would ensure that Cyran was warm that night.

Del gives Cyran a look of affectionate concern. She knew he was more than capable, had survived in Frost Gale before on his own accord and done just fine, but... she felt compelled, strangely, to look out for him in this way. Perhaps because he had done so much to secure her and make her feel safe over the last day (the last month's, more like) that the thought of him being uncomfortable at her benefit was untoward entirely.

But she cannot deny his reassurance. Producing a relenting sigh, she gives him a crooked smile of her own. "Of course, Cyran. I just... worry. You had mentioned being sensitive to cold and... your teeth are chattering." She laughs lightly, teasing gently. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

And I should very much like to take care of you.

Wherever that thought, earnest and yearning, had sprung from, unbidden, Del swiftly kicked it back down from whence it came, and cleared her throat. "Blanket, yes we can of course share. Ah... food, yes. Of course, one moment," She turns away to fetch their packed food from their pack, some modest bread cheese, with jerky for a side, things that could be eaten quickly and without added heat.

As the blizzard howled outside, keeping them enveloped a pocket of snow and ice beyond the confines of their tent, together Cyran and Del share a quiet meal and do their best to stay warm. They would need their rest and strength for all that was to come.

---

Though the outside of the tent is caked in snow, the light of mid-morning begins to peak through the clouds and illuminating the darkened interior. Del and Cyran were fortunate that the blizzard had burned itself out in only a night; they could sometimes rage for days, if in the right conditions. Though such weather patterns were worse up on the mountains themselves.

In the midst of packing up their affects, face tinted with a deep blush and her stomach executing complicated flips, she looks to Cyran. The snow on the outside had done well to insulate the heat Del naturally generated, and as result, the tent was a cozy temperature they were going to presently abandon. Much as she didn't want to. She had slept very well, after all.

But they have a mission to do, and staying still for so long would be a beacon for Yeti or brigand alike to investigate. Carefully, she removes the coat she was wearing in offering to Cyran. It was warm still with her own physical body heat, a temperature that would retain for a while. At least longer than yesterday, bearing no further storms that would waylay them. "Here. To keep you a little warmer this time?" She gives him a shy, tentative smile, amber eyes flicking to try and guage his reaction.

Storms so violent they wore themselves out as quickly as they started were common in Frostgale. It was perhaps a stroke of luck for the pair of elves that this was one of those types. By the time morning broke over the horizon, the skies had cleared enough that they could actually make out rays of sun peeking through the scant clouds.

Fortunate for them, because Cyran was still embarrassed from Del’s help keeping him warm the night before.

He was used to taking care of himself when it came to matters like this. Cyran had spent a few nights in Frostgale with others before, but never had anyone taken the time and care to make sure that he was looked after…

Well.

He wasn’t even sure how to broach the subject of such a fragile thing, so Cyran figured it was best to just… not speak about it right now. They had a hunt to focus on, and Cyran couldn’t afford to get distracted. The yeti, the hunters, Del. Keeping her safe from the hunters. Fighting the yeti.

He was looping.

The feeling of something warm and substantial being draped over his shoulders pulled him back to the present. Cyran blinked, unsurprised to see Del giving him one of her coats to supplement more warmth during the next leg of the journey. Cyran opened his mouth to protest, shaking his head. “Truly, you don’t need to…” Coddle me, he didn’t finish. Truthfully, the extra layer was helping him stave off some of the extra chill still clinging to him. His attempts at stubbornness truly felt ridiculous in comparison.

Cyran pulled his arms into the sleeves, suppressing a shiver. It still smelled a bit like her - the rain after the storm and the kind of smoke that accumulated after hours spent in the forge - and carried a bit of the warmth from where she’d been wearing it. “Thank you.” He replied, voice brimming with warmth. Internally, though, part of him couldn’t help but doubt something. Was she so ashamed at the prospect of snuggling up to him over the night that she’d prefer to give him clothing than stay close to him-?

No, that couldn’t be the case. He felt the nerves radiating off of her that he felt thrumming in his own chest, but there was no hatred or pity or disgust. He wasn’t sure if that made it more or less awkward.

But time, the fickle mistress, inevitably marched on, and so did they.

The two set off through the woods once more, Del carrying the brunt of their belongings while Cyran kept his daggers on the ready, watching the horizon for any possible threats. The two were professionals - and it was all too easy to compartmentalize and lapse back into the mindset that work needed to be done, with no room for idle thoughts.

Still, the silence felt nearly unbearable. Cyran bit his lip as they walked, mulling over something to say. What was the right thing to break the silence? Thank you for cuddling with me last night to keep me warm? Seen any good birds lately? So how do you feel about traditional versus nontraditional weddings, because I’m personally leaning towards something smaller and a little less elegant if you know what I mean -

What came out instead was, “Do you want me to take to the skies and see if I can scope anything out? Perhaps I could find some remnants of yeti tracks. If the snow hasn’t swept them away then we can assume it’s been around here recently.”

Gods, he was a mess.

Cyran meant it, though - it would be beneficial for him to get a lay of the land so they knew what they were looking for. And he could keep an eye out for any of those poachers, if they’d been stupid enough to follow the two under the assumption that they would find a prize.

They could damn well try, Cyran thought, a surge of protective anger coursing through him at the memory of the other day’s encounter. Regardless of what Eameia had said, these were people who had willingly decided to hunt someone for money. If they were waylaid by an assassin, then they were only getting what they asked for.

And he was more than happy to deliver.

Cyran's smile, his thanks, the appreciative, a profound sincerity that crossed from his end of their connection seemed to seep into her bones. She had been worried, nervous about being... too much. Overbearing, unwelcome, even in spite of their prior time together. This time had been different, in many ways, but what made it different most of all was that, on some level, as she had known when they had come to Frost Gale in the first place-- even before, when earthquakes struck Darkveil and shattered their lives (and before still)-- Cyran was extremely, terribly dear to her. In a way that would have been frightening if it didn't make her soul sing so loudly, drowning out her fears.

She wanted him to be safe. She wanted him to be happy. Even if she could not be a source of his happiness (and oh, what a joy that would be), then she would facilitate it to the best of her ability. He deserved that much. The life he led, the hardship it entailed. But she knew better than anyone, that sometimes such tenderness was alien after so long of enduring nothing but strife.

As he smiles, thanking her for the extra layer, she returns the smile, crooked, but equally warm, as little gold flowers bloom in her hair. "You're most welcome, my Rogue."

Any other words would have felt inadequate.

As is the way of things, however, that they lapse into a silence that is less companionable and more... tense, as they begin this leg of the days journey. Things that were being left unsaid, unaddressed, hanging in the air around them like the rime remaining from the storm. They had to remain on the back burner for the moment; they had a job to do, and a complicated one at that. One that involved a lot of focus and attention.

Despite her best efforts, it was on the fore of her mind, too. But as they so often did, words failed her here. How did one address such a thing? So, about last night? I enjoyed keeping you warm? What's your favourite part of a book you read recently? Did you know that snow is actually a really good insulator, and do you want to build a snow fort with me? But instead of any of that, there was just the almost too-loud crackle of fresh powder underfoot, and the foggy breath from their lips as they walked together.

Until Cyran at last broke the silence. Her brows knit together in silent concern, not wanting to be too far away from him in case anything should happen. The yeti could be anywhere.

Which, of course, was exactly why they should.

She opens her mouth to reply when she feels a sudden surge of defiant... guardianship? From Cyran. Protective, almost. For... her? It was hard to read it as anything else, especially when he was looking at her in that moment. Concern for her wellbeing, even after all the uncertainty, the secret she had kept, even after he knew what secret she was keeping. Dust and ash, he truly was magnificent.

Her smile becomes a little more relaxed as she nods, touched by this unexpected vehemence for her safety. "I think that's a good idea; we can cover more ground visually that way, with how wide open everything is in these areas. I will follow you from down here, or until you decide to land." she moves her gloved hand to his shoulder to squeeze it gently. "I trust you."

He nodded, reassured by her words. She still trusted him. It wasn’t a lie. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” He promised, stepping into the shadows cast by the nearby trees and allowing them to cloak him.^[1] They surrounded him protectively, allowing him to disappear as a pair of spectral wings sprouted from his back and he took to the skies.^[2] 

It was unfortunate that this high up, the air was even colder than it was on the ground. Cyran shivered as he ascended past the treeline, wrapping Del’s jacket further around him to stave off the chill. But he couldn’t afford to lose focus now. Cyran pulled his eyepatch off, allowing himself a full look at their surroundings.

In the distance, he could make out a yawning cave in a mountain, a dark opening in the rocks left uncovered by the snow. It wasn’t easy to spot any tracks in the ground with everything that the blizzard had disturbed, but Cyran could spot a clear path of disturbed foliage where a large creature might have rampaged through.

And behind him…

Cyran squinted as he spotted smoke curling through the air lazily, the telltale signs of someone camping. Shit. It was perhaps too naive of him to hope that those anti-poachers had decided against following the two elves, but the man that had recognized Del in the tavern clearly wasn’t keen on relinquishing his bounty and prize so quickly.

Once more Eameia’s words floated through his mind.

They were small in comparison to the hatred that momentarily coursed through him.

Why couldn’t they just leave well enough alone? Cyran grimaced, resting his hand on Wraithsbane where the dagger rested in a loop on his belt. Something Del had crafted with such pure intentions for him… he wouldn’t hesitate to use it to keep her safe in turn. If those men wanted to try to pursue them, they’d learn that Cyran was far more adept at hunting their ilk than he was the yeti they were pursuing.

He sighed, descending to the ground and allowing his invisibility to drop as he turned to Del. “I think I found a trail left by the yeti, that way.” He explained, tracing his finger in the air along the direction where he’d seen the broken trees and disturbed snow. “It’s been through here at least once after the blizzard died down. And…”

He bit his lip. Should he speak of the group behind them?

There was no point in keeping it a secret. It made no sense to protect her feelings with ignorance - Cyran thought he’d do that by holding onto the secret of the bounty on her head, but that had only ended with fear and heartache. The best he could do was make sure they were both on the same page. To arm them both with knowledge of their enemies.

“That man from yesterday. I think he has friends. Some anti-poacher society led by an exile of the crown who’s aware of your… bounty.” He murmured. “The blizzard should have concealed our tracks, though, so they won’t be able to find us in the woods if they were following our trail.”

There was an unspoken offer in his voice - ask it of me and I’ll take care of the problem.

Del might have had qualms about killing the people that came after her, but Cyran had no such reservations. That was what he was good for, after all. To take on these dark duties and ensure that his loved ones didn’t have to. And he would gladly do it in a heartbeat.

---

1. Dark Form
2. Bat Wings

"Be safe," she whispers to him as he moves to the trees, to the shadow. She could still see him there, moving through the darkness as though he was part of it. He was, the way she was. But moreso. Watching him alight on wings of shadow, she slips off the beaten path to weave among the trees, looking around for any signs on the ground. There wasn't much, but this was but a small patch of land in a very, very large area. Something told her they were close, but there was no sign of such yet.

At the very least, it was something to do until Cyran came back.

The smile of relief she greeted Cyran with as he revealed himself drops when he reluctantly reveals what he had seen. The yeti was good news, but the other but was more troubling. Anxiety flashes through her for a moment-- they were behind them? "He's... an exile of the crown? How..." Her eyes widen a little, impressed in spite of the situation. That he was able to learn that so readily was nothing short of incredible. How had he done it? When did he have the time?

She swallows hard. It was a problem all the way around. When she lifts her worried gaze, it connects with his, solemn and resolute. A readiness to act. To keep her safe.

Oh, darling, but what of you?

"Okay, that's... not ideal." She lifts a gloved hand to run over the hood that kept her hair down and hidden. The last thing she wanted was for Cyran to be dragged into her mess in any way, shape, or form, but it was too late for that. If it was just her, she might simply try to lose them in the trees, in the forest. Arguably, she was more stealthy with Cyran at her side, but these were experienced hunters, people who chased off other hunters for their own benefit. They could make an easy task of finding her if they slipped up, never mind the fact that they were actively hunting a giant creature. She had to set her fear aside for a moment. Think tactically.

Deep in thought, her fingers curled under her chin with her thumb pressed to her lips, Del thinks. A luxury she was rarely afforded in situations like this, trapped between a rock and a hard place. But that was the unique wonder of Cyran; he was so skilled, so smart and conscientious, that he made even this rarity possible. As if remembering that, she gives him a small smile and steps close, stealing his hand and sliding it into the sleeve of her coat he could leech her warmth while they debated how to go about their task.

"They know where we're going" she begins slowly, as though reluctant to think along such lines. "They know what we plan to do and what we're looking for. If we advance on the yeti, we run the risk of drawing the hunters in and being ambushed. But this goes both ways. Fighting the hunters could draw in the yeti before we're ready for it. We can't fight a battle on two fronts. It's too risky. The way I see it, we have two options. One, drive the yeti off so we can track it later, and then take care of... what is behind us. Together." She returns the look he had given her earlier; if they were to take care of the problem, they would do it together. "Or. We use your knowledge of their locations to our advantage. Draw the yeti to the hunters, and we pick off the victor."

It was a brutal tactic; There's a flicker of shame at even mentioning it. It certainly isn't empathy for the hunters behind them, or for the yeti, but moreso that she did not want Cyran to view her that way. Brutal. That seemed important. As far as survival went, though, getting your enemies to fight one another and take advantage of the chaos with an unbattered body and fresh energy to finalize a victory had worked for her before. To keep Cyran safe, she would risk him thinking her a brute.

Cyran shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot as Del stared at him incredulously. He rubbed at the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze as he mumbled under his breath. “I gleaned his memories back in the tavern to make sure he wasn’t a threat to us.” He grimaced. “I’m… it definitely isn’t ideal, but he’s just an overly ambitious fool.”

Then again, even a fool with a dagger in his hands could get lucky enough to strike a vulnerable point.

His thoughts kept straying towards his daggers as Del thought through the situation. It would be so easy for him to just pop into camp and deal with the problem permanently. He opened his mouth, the offer on the tip of his tongue… but what would Del think of him if he spoke that option to existence? By some small miracle he’d already earned her hesitant acceptance even after she’d learned a bit of his nature, but there was a difference between knowing that your companion was a contract killer and seeing, with your own eyes, that he was willing to dispose of an entire camp for your safety.

The things Del had done were a necessary evil to protect her own life. But Cyran - Cyran was willing to do far more than just that. It was this great, ugly, twisted thing, the depths of the darkness that he was willing to plunge for those he cared about. Cyran felt no joy from the act. But he also felt no guilt. How would Del feel when she realized that there was really no difference from himself and the people hunting her? The only difference was that he was on her side. How long would it take for her to realize how horrible he really was, that the part of his mind that ought to contain some semblance of morality or love of all life was just broken? How long would it take for her to realize that he truly meant it when he said he would do anything, anything -

The feeling of warmth on his hand brought Cyran out of his reverie. Del was holding onto him, tucking his hand into her sleeve with a small, tired smile. He listened intently, silently, as she described her plan. It was a practical one. Two birds with one stone.

Have the problem take care of itself.

He bit his lip, mulling over the logistics - admittedly, he’d been thinking along the same vein, though much less merciful. To him, it had seemed the easiest to catch the camp by surprise and kill all except for the leader, and use that man as bait to lure out the yeti. But Del’s option made much more sense… and only further drove home the point that she was far kinder than Cyran. He nodded, offering his silent agreement of the plan. “That would make it easier for us in the long run, especially if the victor is injured.” He murmured. “I’ve got an idea. I think I can lure the yeti out and get him to the camp. When when the victor emerges, I’ll follow your lead.” He doubted the anti-poachers, who had no monster hunting experience as far as he understood, would be able to hold their own against an enraged, bloodthirsty beast.

This part was going to be tricky. There was any number of ways Cyran could go about this, but he doubted it would be as simple as luring the monster out with something as small and simple as noises and misdirection. Thankfully, distractions were not the only tool in his arsenal. But there was always a chance this could go disastrously wrong. Thankfully, he had Del to watch his back.

He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head, resolve hardened like the point of a knife. “Alright. This is a good plan… I can work with this.” He only hoped he could carry it out without mucking it all up. “Follow me - stay back a little bit. If I mess this up, I’ll have an easier time fleeing if the beast gets enraged.”

There was a good distance between the yeti cave and the camp; but there was something interesting about the yeti’s tracks that he’d observed from the sky. There was something dragged behind it, as if it had managed to get its hands on its prey for the morning. If Cyran could get his hands on that…

If he could get it to the anti-poacher’s camp somehow…

All it had to do was follow the scent of its stolen meal.

---

A single, cloaked figure approached the mouth of the cave. Cyran sucked in a breath, steeling himself - and what remained was an eerie calm, as if he’d gone into a trance. He knew what needed to be done. He knew he’d carry it out or die trying.

The sounds of shuffling could be heard inside, few and far in between, but enough for Cyran to know that the creature was awake. The Specter closed his eyes and concentrated, allowing his appearance to change - growing older, more humanoid, harsher around the edges.^[1] It was a near-perfect copy of the man they’d run into at the tavern the other day, remembered and emulated to the best of Cyran’s abilities. But he supposed it didn’t matter if it wasn’t perfect. So long as it was good enough to fool the monster inside. He kept his footsteps light, sticking to the shadows as he ventured further into the den. Closer and closer he crept, until his keen vision allowed him to spot something hunched over in the distance.

The yeti.

It was partially through eating the corpse of the deer clutched in its blood-stained, furry hands. Cyran had to suppress a grimace at the smell - the stench of rotting corpses and food, all accented with the coppery twang of blood, permeated the very core of this place. It sent a shudder down his spine, one he pushed down in favor of venturing ever-forward.

He had one shot at this.

He snapped his fingers - in the silence, the sound of loud footsteps echoed on the other side of the chamber.^[2] The threat of someone else immediately forced the yeti to go on the defensive, its shoulders hunched at the sign of an intruder in its domain. More importantly - it dropped the kill in its hands, which hit the ground with a dull thud.

Cyran didn’t waste this opportunity to dash forward, wrapping one arm around the torso of the deer carcass. It was heavy - but not so much so that he couldn’t get it out to Del, who could help him carry it all the way back to the other camp if need be. As he moved to lift the prey, though, the yeti’s attention turned back to its meal, spotting the man attempting to steal his kill.

It let out a roar.

Cyran didn’t flinch. Now was not the time for him to falter or back away. He dropped the carcass once more, turning to face the yeti-head on and allow it to get a good look at the face he currently wore. The yeti raised its arms, ready to bring them down upon the assassin -

But Cyran was far faster.

He pressed his hand against the yeti’s side, anywhere he could find purchase, and drained it of all the energy it had. The yeti’s muscles went slack, eyes glazing over as it could no longer muster up the energy to attack Cyran.^[3] That was all the opportunity Cyran needed to wrap his hands around the deer carcass with one arm, grab a dart from his pocket with the other, and throw it back towards the exit of the cave.^[4]

Gone, as quickly as he’d arrived - and with the partially-mangled corpse in his hand.

The dart landed back at the mouth of the cave with a little PLIP as it landed in the snow - a second later in a burst of shadow, Cyran appeared, searching for Del once more with a sort of calm urgency. When he spotted her, he dropped the disguise and waved her over. “Come on, we need to get this to the camp and I can’t carry it alone.” He whispered. They didn’t have long before the yeti came back to its senses, and would hopefully make the trek after its lost meal.

---

1. One with the Comsos (Astral Soul I)
2. Minor trickery
3. Vampiric Touch
4. Teleporting Dart

Her brow furrows for a moment, seeing the troubled, sheepish look cross his face as he admitted to gleaning the man's memories-- though not out of anger. She squeezes his hand, pulling him a little closer for a second so she could tentatively rest her chin on his shoulder, still unsure if such closeness was welcome-- there was an odd, twisting, fluttering sensation she could sense from their connection. Something that felt anxious and bewildered. She wanted to ask, try to soothe it, but there really wasn't time to delve so deep. Intead, she exhales a slow breath, in and out. "What you did is amazing. Thank you."

When she pulls her head back again to look at him, her slight smile remains while they continue to talk strategy. It's grim, but necessary; right now, the only thing that mattered was getting out of this in one piece. If they could do that and get the mission completed for the Guild, then so much the better. It's also a relief that Cyran takes to her plan; Given the breadth of his knowledge and experience, she trusted his opinion wholly. If he thought there was a different, better method, she would go for it, no questions asked.

Still, Del cannot suppress the fond smile as she watches the gears turn behind his eye, putting the puzzle pieces together to come up with a solution that would serve them best. As Cyran pulls his hood up, a sense of determination emanating from him, she gives him an affirmative nod, squeezing his warming hand while it was still within her sleeve. "I will follow your lead," Del assures, her smile gentle. Much as the idea of him leaving her side filled her with anxiety and dread, Del knew the more people in the cave meant a bigger risk for error. She would hang back, have her energy ready and fresh to extricate herself and Cyran. "I will wait for you and be ready when you come back to me."

...A sentence strangely more poignant than it ought to have been. But, no less true.

---

The arrival at the mouth of the yeti's cave is certainly cause for feeling nervous. Even as far back as she was, she was leery at the idea of approaching such a large predator, this way, on their home turf. Her biggest and most reassuring point of confidence was the fact that Cyran was doing this; he was capable and dashing and skilled and resourceful. If anyone could pill it off, it was him.

"Be safe, my Rogue." she murmured, releasing him as he slipped away. Her hand felt a little colder without his touch lingering against hers. Del rolls her fingers against her thumb and the palm of her hand, as though trying to puzzle out the tingling sensation he left behind.

The plan was set and in motion. Cyran was already off, trailing into the cave where the surmised the Yeti to be while she hung back from the entrance, so the beast could not catch her scent. She hovers, still and unmoving in her position, ready to launch at a moments notice once Cyran came back or if anything should go awry

That handful of minutes is agony.

Then, the creature roars, gutteral and furious, the bellow echoing throughout the cave and jarring a flight of birds from the trees. Del tenses, but does not move, despite the worry battering her heart against her rib cage. A few precious seconds later, Cyran, in disguise, emerges with a little pop from the teleporting spell of a dart-- the one she had given him? She would have time to be more touched about it later-- as soon as Cyran is in view, Del bolts forward, stooping to pick up the mangled carcass over her shoulders in a firefighter's carry, sharing the length of the creature with Cyran. She gives him a smile full of admiration, not at all bothered by the blood now dripping onto their coats. "That was incredible. Let's go."

She starts them off at a brisk pace, offering silently to take the bulk of the weight, again, so Cyran could remain nimble and direct her. Before that, however, the act of running alongside him, perfectly in sync, feels as natural as the snow beneath her boots.

Truly, there was no one else she would rather be doing this with.

He didn’t have to bear the burden of the beast for long before Del dove to relieve him of it, throwing it over her shoulders like it weighed nothing. No surprise there - Del seemed to possess supernatural strength, honed from years of practice and discipline and running and combat. Far stronger than him. He returned the grateful smile, something warm bubbling in his chest, almost like a brook in spring thawing from a long winter. He had friends, of course, but he didn’t think he’d ever truly experienced what it meant to have a partner, to have someone step in and cover for his weaknesses. As if, despite the gravity of the situation and the hunt, he didn’t have to worry. He would watch her back and be watched in turn. No, in this moment, Cyran felt sure.

Despite the permanent chill in the air, he wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “We don’t have long.” He explained, brief - barely stopping to suck in a breath. “The yeti will follow our trail once it has its energy back.”

He didn’t need to explain the urgency to Del, though. Not when she felt it, understood it for herself. She set off through the frozen brush, Cyran setting off a half-second later. Despite the weight on her shoulders, Del was no slower for it on the downhill trek, following Cyran’s directions to the camp he’d spotted from up high. With a free hand, he grabbed his opposite shoulder, muttering a spell under his breath.^[1] The shadows clung to his heels, their blessings propelling him faster through the snow. Through trees scratching at his arms, wind whipping his hair around… this part of the hunt, the chase, running in complete sync with someone by his side - the adrenaline, the understanding, the oneness of it all. Just him and Del, running in silence with wild abandon. They didn’t need to exchange many words. They just moved, inching ever closer to the camp.

The idle noise of chatter and movement ahead let them know they were getting close to where these anti-poachers had set up camp. Cyran slowed to a crawl, gesturing for Del to slow. From the man’s memories he’d gleaned a general idea of how the group set up traps to protect their camping space - invisible trip wire tied between strings to cause a tin can to fall. It would cause an innocuous sound, not loud enough to tip off animals with sensitive hearing or humans with nefarious purposes.

‘Traps.’ He signed, remembering Del’s fluency with sign language thanks to Maruyama. ‘I think I know where they set them. Follow my lead.’ He beckoned for her to follow him the long way around, skirting the edges of the camp. Through the trees the pair of shadows crept, sneaking glances at the flurry of activity. A fire, lit and tended to by a burly dwarven man, uncaring about the beasts they might attract. Perhaps they didn’t believe they would ever be attacked by Frostgale’s monsters, given their stalwart beliefs against hunting them. But whatever campaign they supported, it was obvious to Cyran that they didn’t truly care about nature. They merely slotted themselves into places they didn’t belong, living adjacent to the land rather than in it. Too civilized, too loud. Not that Cyran could judge them based on their practices.

But he could certainly judge them for their hypocrisy.

It was almost poetic, in a way. Giving them a taste of their own medicine. To be hunted by the very creatures they claimed to protect while hunting others for profit. It was all cyclical, death begetting death begetting death. At least, this would put everything to bed for good. This would end this game of cat and mouse.

There was a small rocky outcropping to the side of the camp - at the very least the hunters seemed to have the sense to rest under partial covering, where the wind would not reach them. Cyran gestured towards the outcropping, a gently rising other hill on the side that seemed to cut off into a small cliff that faced the camp. ‘We can make it up there and drop it from above.’ Quick, easy, and simple. The anti-poachers wouldn’t even know what hit them.

With good timing, too. Just as Cyran’s hands finished moving, a roar echoed through the air, loud enough to shake the birds from their trees. The yeti had awoken once more, and it was determined to take its food back once more.

---

1. Quicken

"Right," she flashes Cyran a quick, determined smile as they set off, easily falling to rhythm alongside one another. Running was something she was used to; she'd certainly done enough of it over the past few decades. This sort of running was different, though. This time had purpose. This time, she was with someone who could not only keep up, but she was not in the process of fleeing from. They were in sync, an unconditional acceptance and awareness of the other that did not even register in the paranoid parts of Del's mind. A trust as implicit and natural as the breath that left her lungs.

How freeing it was, to run the hidden pine trails with the man she found most dear.

There were many reasons Del quite liked Frost Gale, and this was one of them. It was wild and untamed, but less populated than Moonglade. It was truly a place of solitude and intent. Survival here could not happen by accident. It had to be done on purpose. That, and very few people had ever hunted her here with any success; she found it remarkably easy to lose most of her pursuers here over the years. Del bounds easily through the forest, despite the dangling weight of the bloody carcass on her shoulders[1], slipping through the brush and between branches like she had done this a hundred, a thousand times before. Though this was the first time she had done so running towards her greatest fear... and the first time anyone had ran alongside her, keeping pace wth the shadows at his heels, strands of ebony hair that had freed themselves from his hood trailing in his wake.

With Cyran at her side, they could keep that streak of not being apprehended going. With Cyran at her side, she could do anything.

Seeing Cyran gesture to her, Del slows her pace, quickly coming to a stop and taking cover among the trees to take that moment to catch her breath. She looks to him, quizzical for a moment until she catches sight of his signing; traps. She looks out and around, but it takes her longer to see them, cleverly hidden with the snow. Her hands full, the most Del can do is look back to Cyran with a nod, lifting her chin in his direction as if to say 'Lead on'.

She trailed behind him, staying close and keeping her footfalls as quiet as possible in the snow[2], to make sure they left no tracks for anyone who might be watching the perimeter. The camp is well lit-- either foolhardy or arrogant or both. Either way, the light casts wonderful shadows, even at this time of day, and allows Cyran and Del to approach unnoticed.

The outcropping is certainly a stroke of luck on their part, to be able to find such a good place for shelter. Perhaps that was why they felt so good about the fire. Watching Cyran's hands, she nods again, swiveling the creature over one shoulder instead of both and approaching the rocks.

The roar that cust through the silent winter has her focus broken for a second, head whipping around in the direction of the enraged sound-- listening. The echoes of the roar spread, seeming to come from all directions; not imminently near, but certainly approaching. It meant they still had time, but not much.

Enough time to get up the cliff, maybe.

She takes a moment to look back at Cyran, feeling a flash of playfullness for a moment, remebering the last time they had climbed together and the speed with which he had won. Not wanting to speak, but not able to sign with one arm on the deer, she tips him a little wink. With that, Del takes to the rocks, climbing with one hand and both legs to scale the rocks as fast as her body will allow[3]. Her fingers anchor into the rocks, charting out a path for Cyran to follow behind if he chose to climb and not fly. Soon, she's up and over the top, laying the deer down gently and looking back towards Cyran.

---

[1] Cat's Grace
[2] Pass Without a Trace
[3] Surface Scaling

They were running out of time.

Cyran wasn’t sure how fast a yeti could move, much less an enraged one, spurred on by the hatred of losing his meal to an unknown assailant, a human that was barely a gnat to something so strong and vicious. Cyran’s gambit toed the line between clever and insane - where the risk and the reward would be the deciding factor. Cyran hoped he had not led them to their ruin. In the lion’s den, with those that hunted Del in front of them and their own prey on their heels in hot pursuit. He fumbled, his cold, trembling fingers lifting up to sign something. Perhaps an apology. But Del, who was busy assessing the cliffside, merely turned to him with the deer carcass in one hand and a coy smile gracing her lips. A ghost of humor, accompanied with almost the sharp, tangy wisps of citrus and spring.

Cyran blinked, remembering a race and a stone spire, and an afternoon spent gazing at the stars huddled under a shared cloak.

How far they’d come since that evening.

Cyran was so taken aback by amazement and impossible fondness that he almost missed Del getting a head start, forging a trail and forcing stone to bend to her will, even with such a heavy weight on her shoulders. Last time they’d found themselves playing this game, Cyran had merely won with his little surprise, catching her off guard with wings and a quick ascent. This time, though, he wouldn’t bring attention to himself with the tactic, not while they were still so tantalizingly close to the camp. Rather, he took ten steps back, got a running start, and merely started sprinting up the cliff after Del as if his center of gravity had merely shifted from the ground to the wall.^[1] He could see Del moving ahead, launching herself up the steep cliffside like a spider monkey, still making good time as if the deer didn’t even bother her. He was often amazed at her feats of strength, but this was on an entirely different level.

Even with Cyran’s speed, Del’s head start and her strength got her to the top by the time Cyran was roughly three-fourths of the way up the side, hot on her heels. She set the deer down, watching him as he made it the rest of the way to the top, shooting her a sheepish smile as he crouched low, not wanting to be seen by the men ambling around the sprawling camp below.

‘You win this time.’ He signed, inclining his head as if conceding the victory and the crown to her. A bit of his own playfulness and the spirit of competition bleeding through. He couldn’t help it, he supposed. There was something about spending time with Del that made him feel… younger than he was wasn’t an entirely apt description for it. Cyran felt his age, all the heavy centuries of it, fully cognizant that he was not exactly as mentally young and fit as he’d once been. But he felt free.

He remembered a day when he was younger - oh, Cyran could not have been more than a few decades old. A curious child, sitting in his father’s expansive library, flipping through books of names. Curiosity about himself, perhaps. He could not quite remember why he’d felt such a compulsion to understand what his name meant, to understand himself. But there Cyran was, tracing through ancient elven names and origins until he found his own.

Ashen Shackles.

That was perhaps the first time that Cyran realized he was not a free man. Chained to the responsibility of his position, his father’s expectation. And he remembered feeling their weight, as if chains had truly been strapped to his wrists, dragging him down, down, down. Horrified, Cyran had closed the book, but he’d never been able to forget. Never able to stop feeling the weight of his bindings. These little moments, these games between two people, so heavily tied down to their burdens and pasts they did not want to claim, made the weight disappear for a moment.

The sound of footsteps pounding through the woods, the trail of disturbed birds in the foliage and trees being shoved aside, reminded him that they did not have time for him to sit there and reminisce like a sentimental old fool. Cyran sobered, gesturing towards the camp. It was time to leave the others to deal with the yeti.

With Del’s help as the beast drew ever-closer, Cyran shoved the deer to the ground of the sprawling campsite. The area was well lit, and noisy - difficult to tell if these people knew what they were doing, or so naive that they believed themselves immune to monsters. Time would tell, Cyran thought. Soon, they would be confronted with their demise, the very creatures that they were so intent on protecting. Cyran didn’t particularly feel guilty, even as he watched a few confused campers raise their spears, looking around for the source of the mysterious dead piece of game. Even as the sound of another roar pierced through the air, and the yeti burst through the treeline of the camp.

Even as the beast laid eyes on its stolen animal, blood-stained red maw in a violent screech.

He merely crouched low, impassive as the men raised their weapons, some wielding spears and axes - others, nets. Given that they stood on a staunch, anti-hunting platform for the wildlife of Frostgale, Cyran could only imagine what, or who, those nets were for. And his anger only returned with a vengeance, his heart freezing over, layers of ice in his chest. No, he truly could not muster up much of anything as he watched the battle, the rest of the camp manning themselves and jumping to action. Only an air of finality as he watched them fight for their lives, and lose.

Good.

---

1. Boots of Spider Climb

Her triumphant smile widens as she greets him with a playful twirl of her fingers. He graciously accepted defeat, signing to her with his own coy expression and dipping his head in relenting his crown. She had won-- this time. I could always do it with one hand tied behind my back next time, if you like? She signs back, joking, of course. Except not, entirely; she would in a heartbeat... if he wished to see it, of course. She didn't want to show-off after all.

...Maybe she wanted to show off a little.

Which felt incredibly odd to recognize; Del was not someone who liked drawing attention to herself in any way, shape, or form, but she had this juvenile urge to want Cyran to watch her and perhaps look at her with that little gleam in his eye and the pink high on his exquisite cheekbones that she saw from time to time. And goodness, but it was good to watch him have fun, even in a situation like this, which was deadly serious.

The thunder of the beast's approach redirected Del's attention, watching the birds take to the air to get away from the furious Yeti that was crashing through the brush. The people below seemed to be slowly alerting to this, but had no frame of reference for what it was. As Cyran gestures, Del nods. Intent on staying low, she puts her feet to the back of the carcass, helping Cyran shove the deer off the overhang and onto the camp below.

By the time the people in the camp had any inkling to connect these two series of events, it was far too late.

The yeti ripped through the trees with explosive force, roaring its rage in the faces of the people it had come to. There is a call to arms, a quick gathering of weapons, but nowhere near fast enough to address the Yeti's fury. He swatted a man with an axe aside, sending him careening into a nearby tree. He slumped into the snow face down, either unconscious or worse.

"WHAT IN THE BLAZES--?!" a familiar voice shouts, staggering out of his tent as he looks at the carnage sweeping through his camp. Without missing another beat, he reaches for the barrel of javelins beside him, and whips one at the giant yeti. It sticks into the creature's meaty hide, but it does not seem to register the impact, already grabbing a man who was trying to cast a spell in its giant hands, and biting down on his neck and shoulders.

Above, Del watches impassive. It was unfortunate that it had come to this, but this group of people had left them with no choice, and Del was not about to play 'chicken' with her own survival. More men start to converge, arming themselves as they try to surround the beast, maybe in an effort capture it or drive it off, but the yeti is large, rabid, and much to hard to contain. The body of the man it had bitten is used as a club to assault three other people, before an arrow to the eye forces the yeti to pause, howling in pain as it clutches its face.

Now half blind, the anti-poachers start to press their advantage, grabbing nets to throw over the creature's limbs to weigh them down and prevent it from lashing out-- but in it's pain and fury, it begins lashing out blindly, staggering through the camp as it tries to pull out the arrow, smashing through tends, trampling people, and whipping the nets into the faces of the enemy.

Del raises a brow and looks to Cyran... almost amused. They really had no idea what they were doing, did they?