#aubriellelostassassin

He had not forged a snowball in many, many years. He can scarcely recall when last he threw one, most likely it had been at Kanen, sometime before the fire; but the precise memory eluded him. Yet even with so many years between instances, the art had not left him.

He cupped his hands, compacting the snow between them, turning it to fashion the formless scoop into a tight orb. Gaze lingering upon the movements of the woman beneath him, he drew his arm back. He took his time, not wanting to throw poorly and give himself away. Breath shallow, his aim true; he flung the snowball with all his might at the retreating back of his fellow Assassin. He did not wait to see if he struck her quite where he intended to, instead he scrambled off the branch and back around the trunk so that it stood between him and her.

He heard her shout of protest, a string of quick fire curses filling the frigid air before there was silence. Pressing his forehead to the cold bark, he dug his fingers into the trunk of the tree, shifting his weight so that he might lean to the right and ascertain her position. He peered over the edge of the branch he had been perched upon not a moment ago, straining to catch sight of the undoubtedly livid Assassin standing upon the path.

"You think yourself funny?"

He started, tensing at the sharpness of her voice emanating from directly beneath him. Looking down, he met the blazing eyes of a rather agitated Assassin. What smile that had been set upon his lips fell almost instantly.