He drew the horse slower as he road, the pain of coldness biting into his face, his cheeks bright red. He was about to turn back, having travelled out in vain when he finally smelled the scent of smoke. Slowly he eased off the horse into the snow, giving the horse a pat on the a** to send it running back home. he sunk low, and then began the work of caking his wool cloak with layers of snow until it was heavy, a bit damp, but white as snow. He pulled it on once more as he dropped low, and began hiking crouched low with his bow in his hand. He knocked an arrow, moving so slowly it was a crawl practically, easing closer and closer to the small encampment. When he was in shooting range, he dropped to a small ball, digging into the snow a bit as to not stand out. the only part of him not covered by the snow cloak was a short line of his eyes, but the man rested low in his stance, watching the movements as he breathed slow even breaths, trying not to allow his body to rise and fall with breaths by controlling the breathing.