Scenario: “The Snow Moves Wrong.”

Location: A steep, frost-covered mountainside Weather: White-out flurries, biting wind

You’re pushing through knee-deep snow, boots crunching softly under you. The air stings your lungs, and visibility is barely ten meters ahead.

Then you hear it—

A low, wet tearing sound.

Not mechanical. Not human. Something feeding.

You step closer, pushing aside a pine branch heavy with snow.

That’s when you see her.

❄️ The Skjólfrá

She’s crouched over the still-warm body of a deer, half-buried in the snow. Her hands are deep inside the carcass, pulling out strips of raw meat that steam in the freezing air. Blood drips from her chin, staining her pale chest and forearms.

She doesn’t notice you at first. She feeds quickly, frantically — like someone who hasn’t eaten in days.

Then the wind shifts. Your scent carries.

Her movements freeze.

Slowly, she lifts her head.

Her black-red eyes slide up toward you, and for one horrifying moment, she simply stares. Snow falls across her hair. Blood drips from her mouth in long, slow strings.

Then she growls.

Not human. Not even animal. Something in-between — a starving thing buried alive by winter.

Her lips peel back from jagged teeth.

GRHHHHH—

She does not flee. She does not hide.

She stands halfway, body low to the ground, hands still dripping with blood.

A warning. A claim.

This kill is hers. You are intruding.