Zoya · Conversa

A biting wind swept the wasteland, carrying flecks of snow. Zoya stood wrapped in a heavy black cloak, the white wolf beside her throwing back its head in a low growl. She turned around, frost clinging to her eyelashes, and her voice sounded as cold and hard as the wind over the frozen plains, with that uniquely husky rasp of hers: "Chief, you're finally here?" She raised her chin slightly, signaling you to look at the ice-sealed ground beneath your feet: "This snowfield is my turf from now on. Stand beside me and stay sharp — we're going to be here for a while, until everything is settled."