#shibuvan

Winter is a miserable season to go hunting in. It's not lifeless; far from it, because as Ivan rides through the snow on the back of his horse, he can see birds flying ahead and deer trotting through the woods. It's the advantage, really, that inherently comes to the prey in this season. Though to call them prey has always felt disrespectful. They're smart, probably far moreso then most of their would-be predators. If anything, to claim this profession is to try to change the truth. Ivan is the prey. Snow starts coming down as the sun goes down, which sends violent shivers through his body, even with the layers and layers he's put on. The horse begins to slow down, even as he tries to urge it forward. He knows they're nearly there. They must be. But the wind bites at his and his horse's flesh, the ice begins to seep into their bones- And oh, is that a light? Ivan's eyes sparkle, and he manages to get the horse to begin running again. "Oh, oh- there, come on!!" A mansion rises up in front of them, and Ivan sighs in relief. He dismounts, opening the doors so that he and his horse both might come inside, though he politely wipes his boots and its hooves off. He then looks around, squinting his eyes. The only light is that of flickering torches. Despite that, it is far warmer outside. He rubs his hands together, humming as it kindles heat in his palms. A bit like a rabbit, he rubs his cheeks with his hands, blepping. He pats the horse. "Stay here, okay? I'll be back later!" And then he skips up towards the faint outline of the stairs, making his way up once he confirms that's what they are. They're padded, cushy under his feet like he's stepping on mattress after mattress. Once he's at the second floor, he does a little twirl. The lightning is no better here, but he can ever so faintly see a portrait hung up on the wall. It's of a tall, elegant man. He has white hair, eyes like rubies, and he's smirking at the viewer like he knows more about them then they do. It's mesmerizing; he takes a breath and steps closer, placing his hand on it and wiping the dust away. "What are you?" He breaths into the nothingness. A floorboard creaks from behind him.