Zolan pulled his thick woolen scarf tighter and rubbed his stiff, frozen hands together, breathing a white cloud of mist into his palms.
"Damnable weather..." The bitter cold prompted the vampire from the small outpost town to curse under his breath.
Snowflakes drifted silently down onto the streets of Mudu. After a night of frigid temperatures, a thin layer of ice had formed over the smooth, gray-white paving stones.
The surface was treacherous; one careless step could send him sprawling, shattering the elegance and composure befitting a member of the Blood Race. But Zolan dared not stop. He continued trudging onward, one unsteady step after another, toward the Mudu Royal Palace, which appeared all the more magnificent and solemn amidst the swirling snow.
