[SNOWBALL]
The snow of Belobog was almost as thick as the winters of Siberia. The Silver Wolf of the Urals was well accustomed to the crunch as she stepped through, hunting whoever her target had been at the time. However, Bronya Zaychik was accustomed to the recreation of a snowball fight. She had found herself in the middle of plenty at Matushka’s Orphanage.
Packing together a bunch of snow, Bronya began to stealthily crunch through the snow, as though muscle memory after years of inactivity came flooding back all at once. Each step was quiet, as she stalked around to find her target. Who would be the recipient of balled up snow?
And then, she saw a familiar head of highlighted hair. That bard from Teyvat, who bore an eerily familiar look to a ghost of Bronya’s past, caught in the wind. Her hand shakes, as she stares at the young bard, contemplating whether or not he should be her target. For a moment, she considers just walking away, finding another target, and not allowing something fun to be tainted by grief.
But in the next, the snowball is already leaving her hands, with a familiar precision, as though she were back in those Siberian winters once more.
Already, she is packing together another snowball. She supposes that she would enter a snowball fight today. ‘I wonder if Wendy would’ve liked to have a snowball fight too, just like this one.’
“If you’re quick enough, prepare to dodge some more, Mister Bard. Otherwise, I’m a very good shot.”
The heavy snowfall had failed to put a damper on the enthusiasm of Belobog’s children—if anything, the ongoing snow war had expanded in size and complexity, with the extra snowfall used to build makeshift home bases with stocks of ammunition. Venti had spent a fair bit of time on the front lines earlier, sending waves of snowballs towards the opposing base; he was now a ways away, poignantly hatless, packing the untrodden snow into more balls.
(The leaves on his hat made him an easy target, he’d been told, as they stuck out against the white snow; so he had abandoned it somewhere he couldn’t quite remember. Ah, well, he thought, as he readied another snowball. I’ll just find it later.)
His work finished, Venti stood back up. Something whizzed through the air behind him, and a clump of snow burst on his back.
“How dedicated you must be to follow me all the way out here!” Venti said, turning to face his assailant. “Why don’t we—oh?”
It wasn’t anyone from the snowball fight. It was the silver-haired girl who he had seen once, in the Angel's Share.
"I see that we've met again," he said with a smile, picking up a snowball from his stock and idly tossing it into the air with one hand. "In that case, I hope you'll be just as good at dodging as I am."
(Replenishing the stock—and finding his hat—could wait.)
