Winter's knuckles throbbed, a dull ache radiating through his hand as he tightened his grip on the man's torn collar. Blood—warm and sticky—ran down his bruised fist, painting the edges of his sleeve and the snow below his feet.
The man dangling from his grasp barely resembled a person anymore. His face was swollen, one eye completely shut, lips split and smeared with blood, and his nose bent at an unnatural angle.
"Did you think this was smart?" Winter growled, shaking the man roughly. His voice was low and filled with frustration. "Attacking a lone traveler? Hmm? What part of that seemed like a good idea to you?"
The man groaned, a wet sound that barely passed for a response. His head lolled, and when he tried to form words, they came out as unintelligible slurs.
Winter scoffed, disgusted. "Pathetic." With a swift motion, he threw the man to the side, like tossing a rag doll into the dirt.