Countless speckles of snow fell from the gray sky above, coating the village and the surrounding forest in white. The sun's warmth was not granted entry on this day, nor was its light—the clouds would not permit it. Although the day's wind was not yet present, the morning chill still bit hard. This was not the first winter storm of the year, and it surely would not be the last.
Ven stumbled out of his makeshift tent which he had set up in the shadow of the local weapons shop. He let out a great yawn and wiped the sleepiness from his eyes before reaching back into the tent to retrieve some of his belongings. With each passing day he became more and more amazed with the tent's continued standing; the dead oak branches didn't seem to offer much support, and he could count more than a few holes in the hide material (only God knew where they came from). This only made him more careful as he rummaged through the tent, searching for his small pouch of coins and his dagger. He finally found what he was looking for and began his walk through the village.
He could feel the snow gnawing at his soles despite them being enveloped in footwear. Then again, his shoes hardly offered any protection. They had been showing signs of wear after years of use, and his feet were becoming much too big for them to properly fit him anymore. His tunic and leggings were not much better, for they too had a few rips from overuse. Although Ven could no longer notice it, he imagined they still reeked from not being washed in weeks (or was it months? He couldn't remember anymore). The same could be said for his body, which was bathed whenever he last washed his clothes. His once pale skin had grown darker from the minute layers of dirt that had been building up over time, and his fingernails held what must have been thousands of grains of dirt underneath them. Worst of all, at least to Ven, was his hair. It had grown to be so lengthy and unkept, and the itch was becoming unbearable. As much as he yearned for a new set of clothing and a warm bath, he knew he needed to spend the few coins he had on other priorities, such as food and water.
The cobblestone road was becoming harder to make out as the snow continued to fall. Ven prayed the storm would not get much worse than this, for he was unsure if he had the means of dealing with it. He had been lucky to survive the many blizzard's from last year's winter, but he did not want to have to rely on luck this year. A group of young children ran past him, laughing and screaming at each other in a playful manner. They stopped just ahead and started picking up handfuls of snow to throw at each other, seemingly lacking any sort of care for where they were aiming. If only I had the luxury of being so careless during these times, Ven thought to himself while letting out an audible sigh.
He almost didn't notice the snowball flying towards him with malicious intent, and he barely managed to cover his face to let his forearms take the hit. One of the children must have been a little too careless when throwing the snowball. He uncovered his face only to find that either the children didn't notice that they had hit him, or they just didn't care. It didn't make much of a difference to Ven, so he decided to just keep walking down the road. He quickened his pace when he finally spotted the man who had been selling him food for the past week. He typically set up shop by the forge, which was closer to Ven's tent, but the space by the forge must have been taken due to the other shopkeepers' desire for heat.
The man's face lit up when he saw Ven approaching. "What'll it be today, boy?"
"How much for two bread rolls?" Ven desperately hoped he could acquire more than just a few crumbs for the day.
"That'll be six coins." He didn't sound enthusiastic at all. It seemed he already knew that neither of them were going to gain much from this exchange.
"One moment please." Ven dug the small coin pouch he had acquired and started counting the bronze coins. One, two, three, four, five...five. He knew bargaining with the man would amount to nothing, so he decided to take what he could get. "One bread roll, please."
