No echoes.
No trail.
Just frost in the air
and a whisper of hail.

They say he grew up
where the map cuts off —
deep woods, sharp winds,
and a silence that scoffs.

He doesn’t talk.
He doesn’t miss.
Every shot lands
like a frozen kiss.

One eye on the scope,
one hand in fate,
he moves through trees
like they open the gate.

Night’s his ally.
Wind’s his code.
He’s the reason
ghost stories reload.

You never see him —
just the flash,
a breath,
then gone
like myth wrapped in death.

They call him Foresbite.
Not a man —
a warning.
If he’s hunting,
you won’t see morning.

让我们成为朋友 (≧◡≦) ♡

my fav cs player

Legendary shots

My cat says hi.

hey, it's my new account, add me to friends