It was near evening. A chilling cold swept through the entire Wastelands. The trio: Ian, Hansel and Vladimir matched warily studying the trails of those they were tracking, under the faint light of the evening. The sun was sinking rapidly in the west. Hansel clutched his coat closer to keep him warm. The barren wastelands lacked brushes or trees that could serve as wind breakers. The wind came and went as they pleased with nothing to stop or absorb their wickedness, henceforth the drastic coldness of the wastelands. It clung grudgingly on Hansel, plunging into his heart.
The trio seldom spoke a word to each other — it wasn't necessary. Hansel trudged wearily with his comrades. He was exceedingly exhausted from the tiring match. They had not rested one bit since they discovered the trail.
