She sat back against the wall. Wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. The cave was filling with bodies now—riders settling in, spreading cloaks, breaking out dried meat and hard bread. Someone managed to coax a small fire from the damp kindling, smokeless and weak, but it was heat and that was enough.
The two remaining snow-stalkers made their return an hour later.
Elyra heard them before she saw them—a low, guttural snarl from the deeper tunnels, then the scrape of claws on stone. The fire threw shadows across the cave walls, and in those shadows, something moved. Fast. Low. Muscle and hunger compressed into a body built for killing in the dark.
The first one lunged at a rider near the back of the cave.
