RISE UP DEAD MAN

CONDUIT

URSUS, XXXX

Snow.

So much snow.

I have never seen this much snow before.

Freezing sheets of snow blanket the lands of rural Ursus. The village I woke up in is situated next to a tall taiga, a forest comprised of spruce, pine, and fir.

Speaking of, it was a small village that seemed to be going steadily. The architecture was odd, or should I say lacking, because all of the relatively simple huts and houses were constructed in the same style: dark stacked logs and windows with triangular snow-capped roofs. The dirt roads were unpaved and hardened

Right now, I would be freezing, but the seemingly two-member family had a solution for that.

It was a large, dark trenchcoat; its age made it difficult to tell if it was once red, maroon, or simply dirty brown. Either way, it was dusty and covered in many patches of hand-sewn pieces of cloth or whatever its owner had on hand at the time. Although large, it seemed like it would fit the wearer no matter their gender. Curiously, close to the heart was a small missing piece of fabric. It seemed that there once was a badge or patch of some sort that had been long removed.

Either way, it somehow kept me surprisingly warm despite how thin it is.

The small family wanted me to hack at some logs that they either purchased or were gifted.

I say gifted because there is a substantial amount of wood piled up behind the family's house. Somehow, most of it wasn't ruined by the freezing, unforgiving elements of Ursus.

As the axe strikes into the logs, cleaving them in half, my mind drifts to the events that have taken place recently.

It seems I have somehow cheated death. Despite taking two lethal shots to my body, the first crippling me and the second putting my six feet under, I am here chopping logs into firewood for the people that have, in one way or another, nursed me back to health.

A sigh escapes my mouth as I lean over and post myself up with the axe onto the tree stump that served as the base of where the logs were converted into firewood.

"Damn, I wish I had one of Stacy's stamina shots," I softly mutter to myself as the back of my hand moves to wipe the bullets of sweat off of my forehead. Stacy, a fellow bounty huntress I once knew, always used to bring four golden needles filled with straight, liquid stamina. I'm pretty sure she either obtained those illegally or spent all of her bounty money to get them.

Either way, I'm pretty sure she was an addict.

Ah?!

My head...

...

Back to work, then.

~⁕~

"How have you been feeling?" The girl asked me as she looked up from a book. I couldn't read it. Not a single letter or word made any sense to me. This was weird because, if I remember correctly, some letters in Russian are similar, if not the same, in English. I suppose the reason why is because it's "Ursine" or "Ursusian."

"Much better now, though I did have a small headache earlier," I replied, looking out the window at the dimming landscape of a field of snow, the sun gradually setting as its light became a sliver of orange light reflecting off the dark clouds.

"A headache, ah? Well, I hope it isn't anything bad. Perhaps we should have given you some more time to rest. The girl's eyes mirrored her emotions as she looked down at her book's dark cover.