Cold, heaped snow surrounded her on almost all sides. The wind whipped down at her, chilling her bones as if she already wasn't fighting off frostbite. The chilled atmosphere was silent, the only sounds ringing through is her own scattered breathing and the wind moving through the snow tipped trees.
Still, she waited.
Through the wind, the cold, and the hunger she waited. With distant thoughts of warmth and prosperity, she waited. Eighteen hours of teeth chattering, bone chilling cold threatening to rip her very life away. But she wouldn't give up, wouldn't turn away. That's the thing about Thyra, she does not give up easily. One might suggest she never has, but that would be a lie— and a story for another time.
Thyra is no stranger to the grit of nature, the turmoil it brings through its rain, hail, sunshine or storms. She is familiar with the patience required to reach ones goals. She understands that perseverance, strength, and skill are your most important friends when setting out to get that desired outcome.
This is why she is driven to wait a further hour. Before finally, finally, the distant footsteps reach her ears. The world does not know that it's about to lose its tranquility.
The footnotes, drudging through the deep snow, continue with oblivious confidence as the individual moves closer and closer, unaware of the waiting Thyra.
Her movement is slow, deliberate. Her hands finds her staff, her fingers flexing over the handle like ancient tree routes wrapping around rocks.
The snow crunches close to her. She counts down, knowing that, as always, timing is key. Her heart races but she keeps her breath from being swept away with it.
A pair of slow boots step into view. Now.
She comes to life like an animal from hibernation, bursting out of the white. All of the snow that had built up over time falls away as she launches herself up and out.
The person barely lets out a cry as she attaches herself to them and forces them down onto the ground, their lantern and rucksack go flying. Her staff pointed at their neck, the sharp blade at the end glinting in the lantern light.
Her prey is gasping beneath her, their chest heaving with adrenaline and fear. "Who— who..." the man barely spits out what he's trying to say.
Her fur hood falls away when she pushes it back, revealing a deep scowl. "Surprise."
She doesn't let him say any more, drawing her staff back then jutting it down towards his neck. It embeds itself into his colour, effectively pinning him to the snow as if she wasn't already doing it. She leans in close to him, her free hand pulling the dagger out of his bootstrap and tossing it into the tree to her right where it embeds itself firmly into the bark, all without breaking eye contact with his tear filled brown eyes.
"I've been waiting for you, General Stirling."
Just a little dose of Thyra for ya.
YOU ARE READING
Scattered One-Shots
Fanfiction**This is rated mature as a precaution: I tend to swear sometimes. There is also dark themes, such as torture, bullying, abuse, and more. To be honest, I have a feeling I'll use this book as a way to vent so... There will probably be angst etc. *...
