The icy winds of the North swept through the towering pines of the Wolfswood, carrying the sharp scent of snow and pine. Frost crunched underfoot as you and Cregan ventured deeper into the shadowed forest.

“Stay close,” Cregan murmured, his voice low and steady. His dark cloak blended with the shadows, the Stark direwolf barely visible on the worn leather as he cast you a watchful glance.

At dawn, you had set out to track an elusive stag said to roam these treacherous woods, a maze of ancient trees and hidden ravines. The Wolfswood held more than deer—wolves prowled the night, though none dared challenge the Starks or their companions.

The hunt had been your idea, though Cregan hadn’t needed much convincing. “It’ll do us good to leave the keep,” you’d said, and he’d agreed with a hint of amusement. Now, armed with bows and knives, you moved in silence, scanning the forest for tracks.

You crouched by faint hoof prints in the snow, brushing them with your fingers. “This way,” you whispered.

Cregan adjusted his bow, nodding. “You’ve got sharp eyes,” he said, a rare smile flickering across his face. The woods stirred around you—the creak of branches, the caw of a distant raven.

As the trail led deeper, the trees thickened, their roots twisting across the frozen ground like ancient veins. Ahead, a faint rustle made you and Cregan freeze, hands instinctively reaching for weapons. Through the dense foliage, a flash of antlers caught the pale light. The stag.

You nocked an arrow, breath misting as you steadied your aim. The stag stood motionless, its dark eyes gleaming with eerie intelligence.

Then, a low growl cut through the silence, chilling your blood. Cregan stiffened, his hand moving to his knife. Wolves.

Pale gray wolves emerged from the shadows, their glowing eyes fixed on the stag. It bolted into the undergrowth, but the wolves didn’t follow. Instead, they turned their attention to you.

Cregan stepped in front, drawing his blade. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice cold and firm.