Quoted By:
A wave of snowflakes washes over the hunter. His face crinkles from the sudden cold, but his greying eyes sharpen at the scent of pungent wood-ash.
He pauses and looks up at the night sky. The waving conifers grow still. Then, for a moment, every branch and needle-coated pinion flexes in the same direction.
The hunter sees a speck of candle-light. He begins to run.
>ROLL 1d20 + 2 [BREEZE] + 2 [WRITE-IN BONUS]. Best of 3. DC: 12.