This is based off an RP with RL's characters, but I just wanted to write soemthing on these two characters that get too oftenly drawn and too rarely written. Just a heads up: there's a tiiiiny mention of rape, but nothing explicit or graphic.

The cold wind whistled through the frozen forest. Most every other sound was muffled by the snow: weak branches falling, brave rodents hopping over the white blanket. Bigger animals were prowling the forest as well. The Siberian could hear it all, accustomed to the world of white like the one where he had been born.
After an hour of sprinting, the man gave pause to catch his breath. To listen. Standing still allowed the Siberian to blend in with the winter wonderland. White coat, platinum hair, pale skin. Only the cursed hunter's blood in his veins turned his eyes a startling red. He closed them now to focus. As the man stood still among the deciduous statues, he waited for some sort of spark, some sort of particular pull that would tell him where the girl was hiding. Yet there was nothing. The two were supposed to be related, but they had grown up too far apart to feel like anything more than strangers. She had witnessed him bleeding and living and fighting. He had seen her spy and protect and love too easily. Yet they were strangers.
The man let his head fell back. The phantoms riding the winds through the frozen forest pulled at the silvery hairs escaping from his short ponytail. His breaths escaped in the white clouds he had been born breathing. And when he finally opened his unnaturally red eyes, the grey sky offered him a reward.
Perched near the heaven on a branch too high and thin to support much more than a squirrel was the younger girl. Her brown coat blended well with the tree trunk, and her hood hid her fiery curls well. Her brother wanted to wait, to leave, to let the teenager blend into the forest and disappear from the danger of the war in which neither of them were meant to participate. Yet there was a force nagging at the young man to hurry home and get back to his lover whose life was caught between the two armies. Only the urgency convinced him to call out softly, "Anastasia."
The teenager nearly jumped from her perch at the name the wind carried up to her. Vibrant verdant eyes peeked up from above a scarf and blinked down. She uncurled from her ball at the sight of the elder, legs falling to dangle on either side of the branch. The Siberian man should have felt nervous at the small girl on her aerial pedestal, several stories up. Yet that worry was out of his reach. He was aware of the girl's ability to take care of herself.
"Go away, Aliza," the girl called down. They were so disconnected that the rejection didn't even hurt. The only pain only came from memories restored by the nickname, but Aleksander could survive that much.
"You're going to get sick again from this cold. Please, come down."
She looked away from him.
"Did he hurt you, Annie?"
Now she tensed. Finally, there was something. A red pit of anger in his stomach that boiled to life. It was aimed at himself, for being so careless.
"It wasn't on purpose," the girl objected. Of course she would jump to her attacker's defense.
"I know, Annie," he answered. The snow was good for him. It cooled the unnatural rage. "Please, come down."
There was a long pause, the teenager reluctant to leave her tranquil perch. She finally came down, but it was slow going. She was only using one hand, the other held close to her chest. Her brother felt the anger return. How was she supposed to defend herself while injured like that?
When her boots finally hit the blanket of snow, the man took a step towards her.
She flinched. Took an instinctive step back. The angry fire in his chest was starting to hurt. It would burn him without a release. The man knew what their elder sister had done to make the kind-hearted teenager so afraid of men. It had taken a miracle to get the girl to allow the Siberian to even pat her on the shoulder. But another man she had trusted too easily had harmed her, and anyone who smelled of testosterone and aftershave was back to being her biggest fear.
"Please, let me see it," Aleksander requested with purposeful calm. "Let me make sure you're alright."
There was hesitance in the girl's leafy green eyes. The cold had reddened her cheeks to make her look even younger than sixteen. She may have been a well bred soldier, but it took all her courage to convince herself to step forward and hold out her injured arm to the other. Aleksander put a hand on hers, making Anastasia flinch. He was slow and careful pushing up her jacket's sleeve. Underneath, her swollen wrist was a nasty shade of dark violet and ebony, tinged by spots of green. The skin was discolored all the way up to her thumb and halfway down her forearm. Aleksander had seen enough injuries in his life, both his and others, to know the girl's wrist was broken. The conclusion came with concern. The sight of the black bruises in the shape of a man's rough grip brought back the fury. The story of what there older sister had ordered four males to do to Anastasia three years ago, the night when she had lost more than just two fingers from her left hand, rose to the front of her big brother's mind.
Anastasia immediately sensed the change. She pulled back her wrist and reached out with her good hand to grab his. "Aliza, DON'T. It was an accident!"
"I'm going to kill him."
"No, you won't. You know better. He's our ALLY. Aliza!"
Her shout was lost in the wind as Aleksander started to sprint the five miles back towards the house. Anastasia was right on his heels.