The tundra stretched endlessly before Snegurochka, its pristine expanse unmarred by human presence. She moved effortlessly through the snow, her steps leaving no trace. The cold did not bite at her skin or numb her fingers; instead, it embraced her like an old friend. She was the winter’s mistress, its breath and fury bending to her will.

A howl echoed across the expanse, low and mournful, a sound that carried a message meant for her alone. Volk’s wolves were near.

Snegurochka stopped, her senses sharpening. She touched the air, feeling the subtle shifts in temperature and the faint tremors in the snow beneath her. The wolves were closing in. She raised her hand, and the wind responded, carrying with it a thin veil of snow to obscure her figure.

The first wolf appeared as a shadow against the white landscape, its form sleek and deadly. Then another, and another, until a pack of six surrounded her in a loose circle. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural light, betraying the influence of their mistress. Snegurochka stood her ground, calm and unyielding.

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The wolves charged in unison, their movements coordinated. Snegurochka drew upon the snow around her, shaping it into barriers and swirling eddies that slowed their advance. The dense snow impeded their leaps and turned their speed into an advantage for her.

One wolf lunged for her, jaws snapping. She stepped aside, her cloak billowing as she sent a sharp gust of wind to unbalance it. Another came from her left, and she deflected its trajectory with a burst of sleet that pelted its flank, staggering it mid-charge.

The fight was relentless. The wolves were more than animals; they moved with intelligence, testing her defenses for weaknesses. Snegurochka drew them into a rhythm, leading them in circles where the terrain itself became her weapon. The snow piled unevenly beneath their feet, causing them to stumble, while the wind pushed them off balance.

One wolf managed to graze her arm with its claws, tearing through her cloak. Snegurochka gritted her teeth, her grip on the elements momentarily faltering. She summoned a concentrated blast of snow, hurling it at the wolf with enough force to send it tumbling back into the others.

When the last wolf retreated, limping and bloodied, Snegurochka stood alone, her breaths steady. The ground around her bore the marks of battle, churned snow and scattered fur telling the story. She pressed a hand to her injured arm, the warmth of her blood a sharp contrast to the cold around her. Volk would know of this.

That was exactly what Snegurochka wanted.