The creature lay still.
Too still.
Its massive body half-buried in the snow, dark blood seeping slowly into the ground beneath it.
No one approached at first.
Even in death, it felt wrong.
Unnatural.
Corvyn stepped forward.
Nightfeather still in hand.
Careful.
Measured.
Ser Halric followed, though more cautiously than usual.
"I don't like this," he muttered.
Corvyn crouched beside the fallen beast.
Up close, it was worse.
Its form did not fully belong to any creature he knew.
Parts of it seemed… forced together.
As if shaped by something beyond nature.
He reached out, pressing a gloved hand lightly against its fur.
Cold already.
But the flesh beneath felt dense.
Stronger than it should be.
"This wasn't born like this," Corvyn said quietly.
Halric frowned.
"Then what? Someone made it?"
Corvyn did not answer immediately.
Instead, he studied the wounds.
Old scars marked its body.
Not from animals.
From blades.
From battle.
It had fought before.
Survived.
Learned.
One of the men called out.
"My lord!"
Corvyn stood.
"What is it?"
The soldier knelt near the edge of the clearing.
"There's more."
Corvyn and Halric moved over quickly.
The ground there was disturbed.
Not from battle.
From digging.
Large sections of earth and snow had been torn apart.
Halric crouched beside it.
"This thing did this?"
Corvyn shook his head slowly.
"No."
He pointed toward the marks.
"These are too deliberate."
The soil beneath the snow was dark.
Almost black.
And deeper still—
Something else.
Stone.
Smooth.
Old.
Corvyn brushed more snow away.
Revealing the edge of something buried beneath the clearing.
A structure.
Ancient.
Hidden.
Halric let out a low breath.
"Well… that's not good."
Corvyn studied it closely.
"This was covered," he said.
"Buried for a long time."
The soldier nodded.
"The ground looks recently disturbed."
Halric stood slowly.
"So something dug it up."
Corvyn's gaze shifted back to the dead creature.
"Or something came out."
Silence followed.
The weight of that thought settled heavily.
A cold wind passed through the clearing.
Stronger now.
Carrying something faint…
A whisper beneath the sound.
Corvyn turned sharply toward the opening in the ground.
"Do you hear that?"
The men listened.
At first—nothing.
Then…
A faint sound.
Low.
Distant.
Not quite a voice.
But not silence either.
Halric's grip tightened on his sword.
"I really don't like that."
Corvyn stepped closer to the exposed stone.
The surface was carved.
Faint markings ran along its edge.
Worn by time.
But still there.
Not of the North.
Not of any house.
Something older.
Forgotten.
A raven cried sharply overhead.
Urgent.
Warning.
Corvyn looked up briefly.
Then back down into the darkness beneath the earth.
Whatever had been buried here…
Was no longer asleep.
He straightened slowly.
"We're not leaving," he said.
Halric blinked.
"You're serious?"
Corvyn's voice was steady.
"This is bigger than Bolton."
He looked toward the dark opening once more.
"And far more dangerous."
Halric let out a quiet breath.
Then gave a faint grin.
"Of course it is."
Corvyn stepped forward.
Toward the hidden structure beneath the snow.
Toward whatever waited below.
And the Wolfswood grew darker still.