Sunset Valley my lord my light

the soldier stalked the borders, itching to sink his fangs into rogues that would make the mistake of crossing into faust's lands. itching to return to his brother with another head. he wanted the borders lined with messages? iosef would see it done. 

a scent is carried on the bitter cold wind. unfamiliar. it sets his blood on fire. with a soldiers determination he marches forth, long and sturdy limbs cutting through the snow with ease. 

a figure, pale and ghastly, against the backdrop of never ending snow. he approaches with a growl, his lips curled. a pretty woman with a scarred face. there was an inkling that perhaps she was tough enough to whether the storm, but he'd be the judge, jury, and executioner. 

"you trespass," he grunted. his accent deep, voice dripping with malice. "what you doing in blizzard, маленький волк?".