The white powder stretch of land was growing dangerously icy. Half destroyed snow forts littered the battlefield and sat miserable and defeated under the darkened, gray sky. Landon had been forced by his cabin mates to partake in this strange form of amusement that consisted of people hurling wadded snowballs at one another. He didn't quite understand the point, but he found the sport to be strangely interesting. The snowballs, unless taken to the eyes, didn't hurt too badly, and it was fun seeing how many times you could hit another player. Being a child of Khione, he had a natural gift for the game.
Secured behind a three foot high sturdy wall--er, well, as sterdy as snow could get--Landon hid with his neatly stacked ammunition. They were arranged like the balls at the start of a game of pool, in a triangular shape. He wielded to handfuls of snow as well, roughly the size of baseballs, in preparation for a sudden ambush. Cautiously, he poked his head up over the wall, his nose grazing the ice lightly. He scanned the field with determination twinkling in his deep blue eyes. His blonde hair was matted to his head, frozen there from being hit easily a dozen times by his opponents. His clothes were damp and his cheeks rosy, but he paid no attention to it. His only focus now was a girl isolated from everyone else, kicking through the snow. She didn't seem to be partaking in the games, which was strange, Landon noticed, because everyone who didn't want to play seemed to avoid the field. His pale lips turned up into a satisfied smile. He rubbed his thumb in a circular motion on the surface of a snowball for good luck, before bringing his arm up over his head and forward, catapulting the snowball at the girl.