Chapter 1: A Cold Night

Snow crunched beneath Goren’s feet as he walked along the road. Something is wrong, he thought. There was enough smoke in the air that it stung his nose. It was usual for there to be a little in the air during the winter, but this was more than a little. It’s so quiet. He swallowed, feeling unsettled, looking up and then down the road. There was no one. No one had passed him on the road for a while now.

The woods nearby stood tall, imposing, dark, and silent. Snow drifted down all around him. There should be tracks on this road, people moving to and from the town. But no matter how far ahead he looked, or how far behind him, there were nothing but his own prints.

He had gone away about six months ago to be an apprentice to a painter, but the master had died, and the three apprentices were on their own. In the end, he decided to take what he had and come home and bear the shame for his failure to make it in Feridan. He continued walking, sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach and making his palms tingle some.

When he came over the hill, it was obvious what had happened. 

It was winter. Battles and attacks didn’t usually happen in the dangerous cold and snow. The high town walls and the scarcity of food had always been enough to keep Buetarn safe. Now the wood buildings were smoldering as the snow continued to fall, and the town was quiet ruins. My family, he thought with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He started to make his way down the hill, but then he heard a lone barking howl. Then more howls. 

His heart raced. Gnolls! They attacked, and they are still here?

He had to decide what he was going to do: go down there and try to avoid the attackers, see if his family was somewhere, or turn around and try to save himself.

Goren swallowed, adjusting his pack so that it was settled properly between his wings. There was really only one choice. He took his hood off, sliding it off his horns, letting his white and brown ears stand up so he could hear without the fabric rubbing against them. He took a slow breath in, and then he watched his breath curl out ahead of him as he breathed out again. Frost already clung to the outer edges of his whiskers. Then, he slowly made his way down the hill. The cold wind chilled the inside of his ears almost immediately, but he was too frightened of missing a single sound to fold them down or cover them again.

He only made it a little way down the hill toward the remains of the front gate. “Hey, bunny boy,” someone called up from below him, someone he couldn’t see. “Coming to be a snack?”

The voice that jeered at him was masculine. There was movement in the dark toward him. Adrenaline shot through him as he turned to run. He saw another shadow coming around a tipped-over cart on the side of the road from him.

He was a fast runner, but it almost wasn’t enough. The gnoll behind the cart dashed at him at an angle that herded him toward the other one near the town gate. In the darkened evening, the height of its shadowy form filled him with dread. It must be close to seven feet tall, and so he pivoted hard to make for the trees off the side of the road.

Turning was almost a mistake; the back of his cloak was gripped by the one that had chased him from around the cart. He felt it pull tight over his throat as he hit the end of it, but he pushed forward anyway, and the gnoll said several foul sounding things as the cloak slipped from his fingers. Goren ran, a gnoll he hadn’t even noticed by the trees pounced at him.

The wind was knocked out of him as he was slammed to the ground, but he flailed and kicked, his foot catching the gnoll under his jaw. There was a harsh clack as his mouth was roughly closed, and he yelped. Goren twisted back onto his feet and catapulted himself into the woods.

Today, being a fast runner saved him from the gnolls. He ran until his lungs burned, until he started to cough from panting in the frigid air. He slowed to a stop, his ears oscillating back and forth. I cannot hear anything.

It was decided for him; there was no way he could get safely into Buetarn to look for his family. It was a heavy weight that mingled with the frantic feeling of waning adrenaline. He put his hood back up, threading it carefully over his horns. He walked further in this direction, anywhere that was away from Buetarn.

The snowstorm was picking up. Flakes became fatter, drifting down in heavy globs, and even with his hood, the ends of his long ears were cold. The tops of his shoulders were getting wet. I am lost, he thought. I need shelter. 

It is getting harder to see, but I remember Dill once talking about ruins in the hills. At least that would be dry, right? Maybe if I can find something, I can start a small fire? He began to walk that way. He knew there might be people already there, already doing the same thing, but at this point, this was a risk he had to take.  

Kashira was sleeping near the back of the old castle she lived in. She enjoyed listening to the wind roaring through gaps above her, knowing the snow could not reach her. She fit comfortably because the second floor had long ago fallen in. All she had to do to make the castle feel like home was push the debris to the back wall. There was a big hole in that same wall that hinted at how the castle had come to be abandoned in the first place, but she had filled it in with debris.

At least, that was the story she told herself. It had probably been abandoned long before she was born, so she did not really know. The blue dragon shifted, shaking to better settle her fluffy silver mane down her back, and prepared to nap through the entire storm. However, between the bursts of wind singing to her through the ruins, there was… a repetitive noise? She lifted her head and tilted it; it sounded like a stone striking against stone? Her ears twitched as she heard the sound more clearly in a lull in the wind. That is definitely what it is. Someone is here.

She stuck her head out into the storm to listen better, wind-packing snow on the side of her face and between her scales. It is coming from one of the older buildings in the garden. She decided to investigate, wiggling out of the front doors. She followed her ears, but when the wind really picked up, it drove snow against her face and ears and made it difficult for her to even hear her own big paws crunching in the snow. What a storm! I guess this winter is reminding us all that it is not done being harsh.

His paws were frozen. He was pretty wet. At least the wind did not cut through the building except when it shifted directions far enough, which it wasn’t doing a lot right now. Goren didn’t have anything to properly light a fire because nearly everything was wet. He wasn’t planning on being stranded in a driving blizzard when he walked home. He was planning to be home, listening to his family giving him a hard time for failing to become the painter he said he wanted to be. 

I might just die out here. I’m so cold I can’t really feel my fingers. It’s probably still a long time until dawn, and it’s only just getting cold. He struck the stones together again, trying to get past the wet to get the spluttering sparks of the flint to ignite the kindling he had found that was only faintly damp. The gnolls might have been a quick death at least. It felt gross to think, and he yelped as he smashed his thumb with the rock. His hands hurt, so cold it was getting harder and harder to be coordinated.

His left ear twitched up, catching a faint noise. He listened more closely; there it was again, a crunch of snow beneath what must be huge feet.

His heart absolutely tried to stop in his chest. He stopped moving. The crunching stopped. He swallowed. He could feel something looking for him; it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He barely dared to move, looking around. It was night, and there was a blizzard obscuring the stars and moonlight. He could barely see anything at all.

I wonder if I can just sneak out of this spot. Maybe it can’t see well either, so if I can just... He tried to shift his weight onto his feet, only to hear the crunching of the snow beneath his toes. He flinched, and froze, but it was too late. The wind was loud, but he still heard what he could already feel: the huff of warm breath down his back. He held in a whimper. I am in so much trouble. 

His heart started pounding so rapidly that he really thought he might faint; there were tingles of adrenaline in every limb. 

The huffing sound again, and he crouched down to make himself smaller. What do I do? It is big, and it is sniffing around for me. Is my best chance to run for it? If I stay here, I will be cornered. 

Goren looked at the entry, the darkness beyond. He could see a little into it, the white snow reflecting even very little light in the atmosphere. He couldn’t see anything beyond. I am cornered; if I stay, I will be caught for sure.

A ragged breath in, and then he was on his feet. Snow crunched beneath his feet as he bolted the couple of steps to his bag, pivoted, and ran for the nearest gap he could jump through in this building. He couldn’t see anything beyond the gap, shadows, and faint white of snow.

It was like he crashed into something rock-solid right at the level of the middle of his body. He would have fallen backward, but the thing curled around him. “Wait a second,” a big feminine voice said.

I am dead, he thought as his heart raced even more painfully.  “No, let me go!”