Blood on the Snow (2)

Curtains were drawn shut, but shards of winter's gray light managed to pierce through the gaps, giving a dull luminescence in the room. On the other hand, the candle flames sitting on the bedside table flickered, adding a warm light despite the dreariness.

The hunter sank onto the edge of the bed with his shoulders hunched forward. He had his one hand clutching on the bandage wrapped on his wounded shoulder, straining with a crease on his brows.

His pale skin contrasted with the dark hair that was just enough to brush the tops of his ears. Tiny white moles scattered across his neck, like the stars in the constellation.

"Then I will make some soup for breakfast," the hunter's wife excused herself, glancing briefly at her husband before she slipped out of the bedroom.