A Town where They Don't Live

There was a tree in the side of a slope. 

Still not long matured from it's budding birth,

 it overlooked a town covered in a blanket of snow.

 A man rested against the tree,

 his scabbard held against his knee. 

The snow piled up around him, keeping him warmer than winters breath. 

His long black hair, 

unkempt and uncombed, 

the faint of frost stuck to them.

The lightest of strands whisking up

and down,

and left,

to right; 

they danced as if the wind was it's musician. 

And as his hair flirted with the winter current,

 his nose exhaled a great gust of smoke.

A young teen girl ran up the slope, away from the town, towards the man. A scarf wrapped around her neck she juggled something between her hands. She slipped and fell down once, her face buried within the snow, but quickly got up again. Her long silky black hair trailing behind her, she hurried up the slope, once more. 

The man opened one eye, and as he did so a huge potato was thrust in front of his face.  The girl beamed as she leaned forward. He patted her head before taking the steaming lump. He split it in half, and handed a half to her.

They sat on the slope next to one another, eating and looking down at the town. The girl leaned against him and set her small head against his shoulders.  They watched as the town's children chased after one another, oblivious that 2 strangers were watching them peacefully. As she finished her meal, she sighed and snuggled against him, hugging her legs.

They fell asleep like that, buried in the snow, using each others warmth. And when dawn came they were gone. A huge hole in the slope, right in front of the young tree. The only evidence that 2 people had just been here.