Darrof curled up in his tent. It was better this way, he told himself. He didn't need Rolf- er… the norn. That was strange; when did he start calling the norn by his name?

It's not like he would miss him. Rather, he shouldn't. Soon this whole ordeal would be behind him, and he would go back to his life in Soren Draa. The mountains, the cold, and Rolf, would all be a distant memory.

Besides, Darrof didn't want Rolf's way of doing things to rub off on him. That would just make him even more of of an outcast back home.

Well, regardless, all he could do now was wait.

And wait.

Aaaaaaaand so on.

Asura children get bored easily.

Though Darrof supposed he should be grateful that he had the luxury to be bored now. It was frankly incredible how much insulation the makeshift tent provided. He felt totally protected from the elements outside.

It was almost… cozy.

Good thing too, because it appeared that Rolf had been right about another thing: the blizzard started right on cue. The temperature dropped a little bit inside the tent, but it was still manageable.

With nothing else to do, Darrof curled up in his shelter and listened to the rhythmic sound of the snow pelting the tent. The wind was picking up, he could hear it battering against the tent.

Darrof had no idea how long he waited. He knew he had slept for a while, and now he was hungry again too. He tried eating some snow, but it didn't really help.

Well, however long it had been, Darrof had gotten quite used to the inside of this tent. Time seemed to fade away as the natural symphony continued on. If it weren't threatening to kill him if he ever left the shelter, Darrof could almost find beauty in the sound of the blizzard. Pelting snow, howling wind, rustling trees, fluttering tent.

Snow. Wind. Trees. Tent.

Snow… Wind… Trees… Tent…

Footsteps. Darrof perked an ear up.

...Footsteps!

Hold on. Darrof made sure to temper his expectations. For all he knew, it was just the norn again, apparently too dumb to follow directions.

But no, there was something different about these. For one, Darrof didn't feel the ground rumbling as it had whenever Rolf had approached. For another, it had an odd rhythm to it. Almost like…

Multiple sets?

Could it be?

Throwing caution to the wind, Darrof got to his feet and opened up the tent. The moment he did, a much more literal wind smacked him in the face and made his eyes sting.

Squinting, he poked his head out and tried to locate the sources of the footsteps. His body still in the tent remained nice and warm, which just made the feeling on his face even more jarring.

This was far worse than before. This was… torment. For the second time in a single day, Darrof found himself reevaluating his definition of "cold".

But it didn't matter. If there was even a chance of his parents being out there, nothing would stop him from trying.

He cautiously stepped out of the tent, bracing himself as his whole body instantly went numb.

He gritted his teeth, and kept scanning the horizon for signs of life, or tried to at least. It had gotten dark out, but Darrof was rather proud of his night-vision. But even in spite of that, with all of this snowfall, he could barely see more than a few meters in front of him.

Glitch, why did it have to be in the middle of a blizzard?

This was no good. He needed a better vantage point. Darrof walked forward blindly until he felt his hand hit the snow mound that supported the burning beacon.

He looked up. Miraculously, the beacon seemed unimpeded by the weather. Hmm, provided he stayed clear of the flame, the height would give him better visibility, and the heat would keep him from freezing before help arrived. Plus, whoever was out there would be naturally drawn to the light.

In short, it would suffice.

Darrof dug his stubby clawed hands into the snow mound, ignoring the burning chill as best he could. He kicked his small legs up the mound with all his might, and eventually made it to the top.

Standing up right under the burning sticks, Darrof looked out again toward the source of the footsteps. They were growing fainter now, he had to hurry. Thankfully, he could see a little farther now. He strained his eyes, as if they could pierce through the snow if he tried hard enough.

Finally, at the very edge of his vision, he found what he was looking for. The faint silhouettes of people walking through the blizzard. Even from this distance, Darrof could tell they were too small to be norn.

How many were there? Darrof counted one, two…

three, four.

Five.

Six?

Seven!

Darrof's heart skipped a beat. A search party! His parents had sent a search party to find him! He knew it! They wouldn't just leave him out here. They just needed time to prepare, so they would find him no matter what.

But still, Darrof wasn't sure they'd be able to see him from over there. The silhouettes were getting smaller. There was only one thing to do.

"I'm over here!" Darrof shouted at the top of his lungs. "I'm right here! Come toward the beacon!"

Darrof kept yelling, and just as he was about to give up, the figures stopped moving, and then started drawing closer. This was it! He was saved!

"That's it! I'm right here!" Darrof kept hollering. "I knew you'd find me! Mom and Dad will be so happy when they find out I'm okay! Are they with you now? No, no, it's better if we surprise them. I want to see the joy in their faces when they find out I survived all by myself!"

The figures got closer and closer.

"Come on! You're almost here!"

Finally, they were close enough that Darrof could make out their shapes, and immediately realized his mistake.

These were not asura.