[SWP] we're gonna start a fight

[Jahin]

J A H I N - - - He is unnoticed in the corner, cloaked in the flickering shadow cast by wane firelight. The fires lit do not cure the cold he feels in his bones. He has never seen snow, has never felt its lingering icy caress. It does not take Jahin long to decide that he doesn’t like snow. Nor does he like what the cold and snow brings with it—hunger. A deep, aching, gnawing hunger. But it doesn’t bother him as much as others. He was trained for hardship like this—endured drought and famine in the desert with the Davke. It is but a new trial for him to face and conquer. He worries, however, for the others. They are weaker and untrained in the ways of survival. He paces outside for a moment, gazing upon the capitol and the brazier fires that remain lit on the walls. Wherever Seraphina is, he hopes she is safe and surrounded by her Regime. He has not seen her since before the storm. Has heard no news of her welfare. He is comforted by the light on the walls—as long as they are lit he feels as though she is probably safe. Frost crackles on his whiskers as he breathes in and out. The cold stings and the wind bites. He returns indoors only to find two stallions engaged in a fight. He sighs, shaking his head. Surrounded by idiots. “Stand down,” Jahin snaps, shouldering between them. “Or take it outside where the cold can you finish you both off.”  They eye him up and down, wondering if they ought to turn on him but seem to think better of it when they see his Davke brand and scars. They shuffle off, muttering angrily. He returns to his corner. He sips his ale in solitude and doesn’t engage in conversation. He watches and waits. He can feel the malevolent shift in the room, the dark glances cast among small crowds of citizens. The whispers are sharp and hushed. Raids. His ears pin, his blood growing hot under his skin. “If anyone so much as breathes a word about a raid—I’ll throw you out myself and you’ll be dinner for whatever creatures this blizzard brought with it.”   these scars long have yearned for your tender caress to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own ---