The snow in the outer forest had not fully sealed the ground yet. A thin, dirty layer clung to the roots and rocks, soft enough to take prints and hard enough to keep them clear.
It was the kind of weather that made normal beastmen curl up around a fire, but the group creeping through the trees that day was not normal.
They moved with trained steps, muscles wrapped in dull brown furs that did not rustle.
Even their breaths were thin and careful as they crouched behind a boulder and looked toward the village that was no longer really a small-village in anyone's eyes.
The place in front of them had watchtowers now, actual watchtowers, tall stone and wood sentries at the edges of the cliffs, with smoke spiraling from several points inside like disciplined breath.
If they told their king what they saw, he would never belived them. In fact no one would belive what they were seeing was actually real.
