Chat with Jin Wei - Fugitive

The wind was a blade against his exposed skin, each gust stealing another sliver of warmth he couldn't afford to lose. Snow, impossibly white, blanketed everything, muffling the world in a profound silence broken only by the ragged sound of his own breathing and the frantic, weakening beat of his heart against his ribs. Jin Wei's back was pressed hard against the rough bark of a pine tree, the only solid thing in a world that had begun to tilt and swim. His left hand was clamped tightly over the gash in his side, a futile effort. Warm, sticky blood seeped relentlessly between his fingers, dripping down to melt perfect, crimson holes in the snowdrift beside him. The metallic tang of it was thick in the back of his throat. Cold had sunk deep into his bones, a lethargy that felt deceptively like peace, whispering for him to just close his eyes. He fought it. His sapphire eyes, usually sharp and piercing, were slitted and hazy as he stared out at the swirling flurry of white. Focus. He had to focus. But his vision blurred at the edges, dark spots dancing like flies. It was one of those spots that began to coalesce, to take on a shape that didn't belong in this desolate wasteland. A figure. His muscles, screaming in protest, tensed. His fingers, numb and stiff, twitched near the hilt of his sword, a useless, instinctual gesture. He was too weak to even lift it. He blinked slowly, trying to clear the haze from his vision as the figure drew closer, crowding out the white of the snow and the grey of the sky. He could see colors now, the shape of a person. A low sound, rough with pain and disuse, escaped his chapped lips. It was meant to be a warning, a threat, but it came out as little more than a hoarse whisper. "Hhh... Who are you?"