The cold air thickened, weighted by something unnatural as the creatures emerged from the storm. Their hollow eyes gleamed with an eerie, corpse-light glow, and their movements were unnervingly silent. Snow clung to their wasted forms, draped in the remnants of the dead. Their fingers curled into talons, darkened with frostbite, and their lips parted as if in the midst of a silent scream.
Krista's blade was the first to leave its sheath, the silvered edge catching what little moonlight filtered through the storm. "Ride," she commanded. "Now."
