One step backward, another step forward. One step left, another step right. Deep breathe, relax. The beast stares at me, it's exhaustion evident. It's hairy body trembles with each breathe, as it's body slowly starts to succumb to injuries. I stare quietly, my hand firm on my blade. It huffs, before charging with all of it's might, letting go of any caution. A mistake, as my blade slides inside it's body and ends its life. Sheathing my blade, I kneel to the deceased animal and quietly look it over.

This will do.

Taking out my dagger, I smile as I trace the design with my finger. The hilt of the blade is carved to look like that of a trunk of a blade itself looking like a branch; this blade has seen plenty, and with everything that has happened, it will surely see much more. I plunge the blade into the animal, careful to be precise so that good amounts of fur and meat can be extracted. It takes me back, to when things were much simpler. Where all I worried about was the hunt, and providing for my clan.

My ears twitch, reminding me of my surroundings. The crisp, cold air of Haven still catches me off guard. White snow covers the ground and the surrounding mountains, it is quite beautiful. However, that is all lost on me as I stare at the source of my strife. The crack in the sky. That damned Rift. My hand twitches as if responding to my hatred, and at this point it wouldn't surprise me if it was. I shake my head, taking the skinned fur and meat, and with a small use of mana, burn the corpse of the druffalo. As I walk back towards the camp, I can't help but make a small joke to myself.

Elves are most definitely not built for the cold, my ear-ends are about to fall off.