Steel rang through the silent forest.
The sudden clash shattered the stillness of the Wolfswood as Ravaryn riders struck from the shadows. Men shouted, horses panicked, and snow was kicked violently into the air.
Corvyn stepped forward as the first Bolton soldier lunged toward him.
The man swung wildly, fear already in his eyes.
Nightfeather moved like a whisper.
The Valyrian steel blade cut cleanly across the man's chest, and he fell into the snow without another sound.
Corvyn turned immediately.
Another Bolton rushed him with a short axe raised high.
Corvyn sidestepped the swing and drove the pommel of Nightfeather into the man's jaw. Bone cracked. The soldier collapsed before he could recover.
Around him, the fight spread between the trees.
Ser Halric Snow fought like a storm given flesh. His heavy sword crashed against a Bolton shield, splitting wood and sending the man behind it sprawling backward into the snow.
"Keep them tight!" Halric roared. "Don't let them surround us!"
Ravaryn riders answered with grim determination.
But the forest was no longer empty.
More Bolton soldiers rushed through the darkness, their boots breaking branches as they pushed forward from deeper within the woods.
Too many.
Corvyn saw it clearly now.
This was no small patrol.
Shapes moved between the trees—dozens of them.
Torches flared to life farther back, their orange glow spreading through the dark forest like fire through dry grass.
Halric cursed under his breath.
"That's more men than a scouting party."
Corvyn nodded grimly.
He parried another strike and drove his sword forward, forcing the attacker back.
A horn suddenly sounded from the Bolton side.
Loud.
Commanding.
The enemy soldiers began pulling back slightly, forming a rough line among the trees.
Someone was organizing them.
Someone with authority.
Corvyn wiped snow from his blade and scanned the forest.
Then he saw him.
A tall rider emerged from the torchlit shadows, mounted on a dark horse. His cloak bore the pale symbol of House Bolton, and a cruel smile rested easily on his face.
He studied the scene calmly, as if watching a hunt unfold.
"Well now," the rider called across the snowy clearing.
His voice carried easily through the forest.
"Ravenhold sends its young wolf to greet us."
Corvyn's grip tightened around Nightfeather.
The man clearly knew who he was.
Ser Halric stepped beside him.
"You know him?" the knight asked quietly.
Corvyn shook his head.
But the Bolton rider smiled wider.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said.
"Ser Roderic Bolton."
He leaned slightly forward in his saddle, studying Corvyn with cold interest.
"And I must say… I was hoping you would come."