Tryn was about halfway home, bent nearly horizontal at times to stay upright against the howling wind, when he caught the first glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye.<br/><br/>A lone figure, small, and scarcely bundled enough for the climate in which she found herself, was entering the city from the direction of the East gate.  Where she was headed now was anyoneâ€™s guess, and honestly, the fighter didnâ€™t careâ€”he just found it odd that there was anyone (anyone<span style="font-style: italic">else</span>) dumb enough to be out and about in this weather.<br/><br/>The traveler would have slipped his mind altogetherâ€”he would have continued on to the cramped hut, drafty walls, and piles of fur blankets he called homeâ€”if some sixth sense or thrill of instinct hadnâ€™t made him turn to cast one last look over his shoulder.<br/><br/>It was then that he saw it, and his blood froze in his veins as he caught a slow, measured dip of movement on the walls overhead, just down the long winding street where the stranger walked.  Even straining his eyes, it took him a few moments to process what he was seeing.  Just there, pressed aginst the crooked archway, a massive, snow-white Frost Manx slinked carefully over the brick archway, itâ€™s dappled gray sides and coal-yellow eyes nearly invisible in the storm.<br/><br/>â€œYouâ€™ve got to be kidding meâ€¦â€ Tryn grumbled sourly, squinting through the sleet and wind.  â€œHey!â€™  He called out, trying to get the girlâ€™s attention. â€œ Hey, outlander!  Watch yourself!â€<br/><br/>Needless to say, his loudest shout carried approximately two feet on the devastating wind and was promptly swept away into nothingness.<br/><br/>Anxiously, Tryn struggled to spot the creature again.  Even though he knew where it was, it was still frighteningly hard to see.  Huge, predatory beasts made of muscle and massâ€”they could grow to stand near as tall as a manâ€”the fabled Snow Manxes of the North only came out to hunt in the worst of storms, being all but immune to the weather themselves and too cowardly to stalk the daylight.  Of course, running into one was rareâ€”most of the habitants of the deep North knew better than to brave the elements at their worstâ€”but the great cats knew that there was always the chance of finding that one foolish,<span style="font-style: italic">tasty</span>travelerâ€¦<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">â€œDammit!â€</span>Tryn cursed, mostly to himself, as he hastened his pace through the thickening sludge to catch up with the girl.  He was counting on the beast to stay true to its nature and target the smaller, presumably weaker of the two, ignoring him, but he knew that he was still taking a huge chance by turning his back on it.  Fumbling at his belt, he produced the only thing he owned that was even close to a weaponâ€”a spark-stone torch, capable of producing a fierce flame at any temperature and in any weather, even underwater.  It had saved his life from the elements more times than he could count, but he had no idea how effective it would be in this situation.<br/><br/>â€œHey!â€  He shouted again as he closed the gap between them, dropping a hand on the girlâ€™s shoulder and spinning her around.  â€œWhat in the seven hells are you doing out here?  Youâ€™re going to get yourself killed!â€  He wasnâ€™t even sure if she had any idea what he was saying, but that suddenly wasnâ€™t the only thing he had to worry about.<br/><br/>An ear-splitting shriek, animal in pitch but almost human in itâ€™s haunting tone, came from<span style="font-style: italic">much too close</span>behind him, and he turned to see a massive pair of yellow eyes staring back at him.