They did not speak for a long time.
The clearing—and the stranger—lingered in every mind.
Corvyn led them out without a word.
Back into the trees.
Back into the silence.
Ser Halric finally broke it.
"I don't trust that one."
Corvyn did not look back.
"Nor do I."
Halric snorted.
"Good. At least we agree on something."
They pressed deeper into the Wolfswood.
The light dimmed further.
Even the snow seemed thinner here, as if the forest itself swallowed it.
One of the scouts moved closer.
"My lord… the tracks are gone."
Corvyn slowed.
"Gone?"
The scout nodded.
"No camps. No patrols. Nothing."
Halric frowned.
"That's not right."
"No," Corvyn said quietly. "It isn't."
The map in his mind no longer matched the land before him.
Five camps remained.
They should have found signs of at least one by now.
But there was nothing.
Not even movement.
The forest felt… hollow.
Empty in the wrong way.
A raven's cry echoed above.
Then another.
More this time.
Corvyn looked up.
Several black shapes circled high above the canopy.
Not one.
Many.
Watching.
Gathering.
Halric followed his gaze.
"That can't be good."
Corvyn's voice lowered.
"They sense something."
The wind shifted suddenly.
Colder.
Sharper.
It carried a scent.
Faint.
But unmistakable.
Smoke.
Not fresh.
Old.
Burned.
Corvyn turned toward it immediately.
"This way."
They moved quickly now.
No longer cautious.
No longer slow.
Through thick brush and low branches, pushing deeper than before.
Until—
They reached it.
Another clearing.
Larger.
Darker.
And ruined.
Charred remains of tents.
Blackened ground.
Ash scattered across the snow.
A camp.
Or what was left of one.
Halric stepped forward, scanning the destruction.
"This wasn't us."
"No," Corvyn said.
The damage was different.
Not clean.
Not controlled.
This was… violent.
Unrestrained.
A soldier crouched near the ground.
"My lord… look."
Corvyn approached.
The man pointed at the snow.
Tracks.
But not like any they had seen before.
Too large.
Too deep.
Something heavy had moved through here.
Something powerful.
Halric's voice dropped.
"Bolton doesn't have anything like this."
Corvyn straightened slowly.
His eyes scanned the treeline.
The shadows felt thicker here.
Closer.
As if the forest itself was watching.
Then—
A sound.
Low.
Distant.
A growl.
Not human.
Not wolf.
Something else.
The men tightened instantly.
Weapons drawn.
Breathing slowed.
Halric whispered,
"Tell me that was just the wind."
Corvyn's hand closed around Nightfeather.
The black blade slid free once more.
"That," he said quietly,
"was not the wind."
The growl came again.
Closer this time.
And the shadows of the Wolfswood began to move.