The frozen forest did not remain silent for long. The fragile, slender howl I had gifted to the pale moon had barely faded from the canopy when the atmosphere behind me shifted, heavy and suffocating, thick with a familiar, terrifying gravity. The silent insects I had just heard crawling beneath the bark went completely still. The wind itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then came the sound. A thundering, rhythmic violent pounding against the frozen earth that vibrated straight through the pads of my silver paws.
He was here.
From the pitch-black density of the ancient pines, a monstrous shape erupted into the moonlight like a living nightmare torn from the abyss. It was Varg.
