Miles stepped out of his freezing wooden shack into the cold, already shivering and rubbing his arms together because the inside of his home really wasn’t much better than outside. He slept under the pelts of bears and wolves that he had collected after killing the animals himself, and still sometimes awoke in the night, finding himself chilled almost to the bone.
It was quiet outside, except for the constant howling of the wind; then he spotted them, appearing like ghosts out of the blowing snow. The pack of wolves Miles had dealt with just the other day had returned after killing and taking his livestock countless times in the past. This time, though, he took down a few before they began to retreat into the icy wasteland. It was already too late to do anything when Miles saw them hauling away the bleeding carcass of one of the animals. He muttered a string of curses, furious with the constant attacks and killings. Then he fell silent, having lost all sense of anger and being left with just a sort of calm feeling of hopelessness.
Soon, a noise caught his attention near the dome. Looking to the edge of the wall he was trapped outside of, he saw a raid party rushing into the Dome. Miles took that as his chance: maybe he could get inside with them. He seized the opportunity, running towards the entrance and trying to join in with the group. Hopefully, this would be the beginning of a better life for Miles Dixon.