The wind was filled with pain. A constant blast of relentless tiny hail, slowly eating away at rocks and lonely trees in vast, empty lands. The tiny hail was actually sand, and the trees were dry, light green, and had many needles sticking out of them. Snow just didn't know what to call them properly, because it was the first time he was introduced to these things. He had heard of these sand worlds before, the opposite of the snowy tundra's he was so used to and was raised in. Being an outcast from the Protectors drove him to these lands. The endless hills of swaying bumps, covered in nothing but sand. The sun always present, burning down on stone and face. The ex-Protector had gotten sunburned badly, and had learned to wrap a thin gray scarf around his neck and face, much like he had done back home in the snow. It protected him from these wind bursts. Sand storms. They came around a few times each day as he travelled, hoping to come across the friendly town he was told about. He had no sure goal in mind now that he was 'released' from his duties, or better said, when he chose to do it so himself. It meant being haunted by Protector assassins for the rest of his life, but that was just the choice he lived with now. The white haired young man was wearing loose clothing and strong boots, all covered in layers of sand and dust. Sand was everywhere. Unlike snow, it would find its way through the tiniest of cracks. Earlier he had found a pair of goggles on a skeleton nearby one of the green spiked trees, and together with the scarf his entire face was now covered. It would suffice as protection as the sand storm continued to pester him from time to time. It wasn't until a couple hours later when he spotted the first houses appearing in the distance. The storm had gotten a bit less, but he would be glad to find some shelter here. As he entered the town, he noticed that the ground was more solid, even paved with stone like big cities at some locations. The houses were made of dark gray wood and seemed reasonably strong, holding their own against the sandstorms that dwelled by now and then. As he stepped forward, he felt his bones ache. He had been walking for three straight days through these sandy lands, not having spoken to a single soul. All he could hope for were some friendly folk. If not, well, there would be blood. Snow had gotten cold and relentless in his actions, and wasn't afraid to show it. The young man looked up, pulling the goggles up from his eyes to rest them on his white hairs as he looked at a big sign above a large wooden house. The Saloon. That was all it said, and that was good enough for Snow. He entered, bringing in gusts of wind as he stepped inside.