The chilling wind blew mercilessly against him and sunk into his skin like razor sharp teeth, freezing him to his core. He shivered violently and let go of the reigns to adjust his coat over his shoulders, the fluffy collar the only protection his face got from the harsh gusts and storming snow, which had quickly grown from a light snow fall to full-on blizzard in the short space of an hour.

He was lost. He had no idea where he was or which direction to go. If he stopped, he'd surely die; freeze to death in the middle of the forest and left as an easy meal for the wolves and other carnivorous beasts. That being said, Alfred didn't see much hope in him carrying on either.

The forest was draped in a thick layer of fog as the snow hit against his eyes and blurred his vision to the point where it was almost impossible to see ahead of himself. He'd left it to his hefty draught horse to guide them both through the forest and even she was starting to grunt and pant in protest, strong legs tired and buckling under the pressure of walking for nearly a full day.

"I'm sorry, Buttercup." He shouted against the deafening wind, giving the horse a few firm pats in encouragement. "But we can't stop now. I'm sorry. Just a while longer." The drought just snorted in response.

Alfred looked up and something caught his eye in the distance. He frowned and squinted his eyes, trying to see past the onslaught of graupel raging in his direction.

The faded silhouette of what looked like a shack further into the forest set Alfred's heart racing in new found hope and, gripping tightly onto the reigns, he set his draught into a light gallop.

He dismounted the horse once close enough and took her by the reigns, tying her to a tree nestled close against the side of the shack – sheltered and safe from the brunt of the storm. Alfred shrugged off his rucksack and pulled out his lantern and pack of matches, setting the candle aflame – a feat that was made tricky by the violent weather.

'It looks like it's been abandoned.' he thought to himself upon inspecting. The wood was rotted and mossy and the windows were boarded up haphazardly. He pulled out his sword and clenched his teeth, flexing his fingers around the hilt nervously. Abandoned by humans, maybe – but it could just as easily have been home to a hibernating bear or giant rats or - God forbid - a troll.

Pushing firmly on the door with his forearm, Alfred tensed as the rusted hinges creaked and old wood jerked in protest. He immediately waved his lantern from side to side to illuminate the dark room, posture stiff and ready for any sudden attack. When nothing jumped out and him, and no creatures could be seen, Alfred sighed in relief and moved to shut the door quickly behind him, the bellowing winds turning into a quiet muffle from the outside.

The furnishing of the shack seemed to have deteriorated along with the building itself: bookshelf collapsed and covered in spider webs, bed rickety and unstable, the table and chair caked in dust and grime and moss breaking through the cracks in the floorboard. It was by no means pleasant, and the air smelt stagnant and damp – but it was better than freezing to death out in the snow.

Alfred had sat his rucksack down on the table when his eyes caught sight of the stone fireplace against the far end wall. Hopeful, he padded over to inspect and was disappointed at finding it empty.

'Damn it', he thought to himself, searching around the shack for something to use as fuel when suddenly an idea came to mind. He picked up one of the books that had fallen from the collapsed bookshelf and the old chair tucked underneath the table.

Without sparing a glance at the contents of the book, he ripped out half a dozen pages and scrunched them up into balls, throwing them into the hearth. Moving onto the old chair, he kicked the back off the seat of the chair with a forceful kick and broke off the legs with his hands before tossing the heap of wood into the fireplace. He lit another match and ignited the crumpled paper, cussing and dropping the stick into the hearth upon burning his finger.

Alfred watched with a feeling of satisfaction of the wood slowly caught fire, filling the room with a relaxing crackling. There was something about lit fires that was just so relaxing to the boy.

Kicking off his wet boots, he sat himself on the ground in front of the fire, pulling off his damp socks and sighing blissfully as the heat warmed his hands and feet. His mind began to wander as he watched the flames dance and spit and he soon found himself reflecting on the series of events that brought him here in the first place.

He had been traveling aimlessly for for five days on a journey that should only have taken him two. He was supposed to be on an errand for his father; delivering one of his family's swords to a nobleman at the capitol. He was so proud of his heritage – son of one of the most skilled blacksmiths in the kingdom. The delivery was his first time out of his town, and it was a self-proclaimed rite of passage on becoming a man fit and dedicated enough to take over for his father in the future. His mother had been worried, begging him not to go – to leave the job to his father, who was considerably more accustomed to the roads. But he paid her no mind. He was dedicated.

He had been half way to the capitol when the fog set in, and soon after that the heavy rain. He had been foolish enough not to take a map or compass, so sure that he'd know his way. How hard was it to simply read the signs and follow the paths, after all? Harder than he thought, apparently. Next thing he knew he was in the middle of nowhere with not a town in sight.

Sighing heavily to himself, he raked his fingers through his hair and hung his head, feeling his stomach threaten to grumble. He hadn't eaten in nearly two days, his packed food long since been eaten and the weather too violent to hunt.

His family was probably terrified. Matthew would have already went to the capitol to try and find him. He had no idea how far away he was from home, and even if he got on track it could take days to get back, and that was only counting if the weather calmed enough to ride again.

He scowled, feeling tears of frustration gather in his eyes. He'd probably starve to death before he got a chance to find his way back. He could kill his horse and live off her meat if he was desperate, but if he was completely honest with himself, he would have rather died. Buttercup had been part of the family since he was just a boy. He'd never hurt her. Besides, how would he hope to get back home without a horse?

Feeling himself caught in an awful catch-22, Alfred sighed heavily and closed his eyes over. They were starting to get heavy and tired from the heat and much needed rest. He didn't want to crawl his way over to the dusty bed or even lie down onto his back – he just wanted to sit there. So he did, slipping off into unconsciousness with his head still in his hands. He was safe where he was for now. He could afford to let his guard down.

What he didn't notice was the pair of hungry green eyes watching him from the rafters, the creature's tail wrapped securely around the beams as it watched him from above. Silent, hunting, and waiting for the right time to strike.

It let out a hiss as it smirked, the sound drowned out by a loud spit of the fire.


Heh, well, here comes my first ever multi-chapter fic! I've been feeling pretty down lately so I wrote this to keep my mind occupied. I absolutely adore snakeman!Arthur. There isn't enough of him.

Just a little heads-up, by the way: this fic will most certainly contain weird sex. I've read weirder, but you know...just in case any of you are strongly against it. It's probably not a good idea of me to upload an MA fic during this purge, but oh well. I'm trying to get registered for an AO3 account, but it looks like I'll need to wait until September to get accepted OTL.

Anyway, enjoy!