He didn’t know what had woken him up. All was silent outside, or at least too muffled by their snowy tomb for them to hear. What had woken him up?
There it was again: the sound that his ears had deemed important enough to pull him out of sleep for. He heard a deep snuffling, followed by a scraping crunch. Something was digging its way in. Ben was suddenly acutely aware of the smell of blood on his clothes. Quickly he dug out his revolver, made sure it was loaded, and shook Finch awake. She grabbed her rifle and pointed it at the sound, and in the fading light of the glowstick they saw snow begin to flake from the wall. More and more snow fell, until finally there was a violent cascade as the animal broke though. A snout was thrust through the screen of pine needles, covered with dark mottled scales, gray and brown feathers, and topped with a blunt, horny boss. It could only belong to a grendol.
Continue reading “[Fiction] Long Winter Night, Chapter 3”
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