The morning air clung to Jonas like damp wool, heavy and thick with the scent of overturned earth and wet foliage.

  Just past him stood the village gates, a small group of villagers stood around in a circle of whispers, side by side, their faces pale and drawn. Rourke was among them, tall and unbothered, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  The focal point of their attention was a deer--if it could be called that. It lay sprawled in the blanket of white snow, a shattered canvas, mutilated beyond repair. The ribcage was ripped outwards like jagged knives towards the sky, cracked and fragmented, each bone painted red. Shredded meat and sinew dangling from its skeletal frame. The abdomen had been torn open with a disregard for violence, entrails poured in disorganized loops across the snow, coiling into the underbrush whilst steaming faintly in the morning cold.

  Its neck, twisted at an unnatural angle, vertebrae poking through the torn flesh. A few feet from the body rested the head, its glassy eyes staring wide into the heavens. A macabre smile hung slack, its lower jaw missing leaving a coagulated gape, flecked with bile.

  Snow around the carcass was stained in deep red, soaking the once pristine surface, as if the earth itself had bled. Claw marks hinted that something had dragged it through the snow before the last moments of its life.

  "Could've been a wolf," muttered a villager, his voice trying to fill the silence rather than offer any actual insight.

  "It had to be wolves," another insisted, his voice quivering as he tightened his grip on the hunting spear at his side.

  Another man, older and hunched, shook his head clutching a wooden pendant whispering "This is no work of wolves this is something worse."

  Upon his approach Jonas crouched low, careful not to step into the mess. The sight itself was enough to make the most battle hardened man uncomfortable. Jonas couldn't look away; the sight turned his stomach-not with revulsion but with sharp unease. This was no hunt, no natural kill. It felt… intentional, as though the act itself had been a message. But for whom? And why? His eyes darted across the scene, inspecting the savagery, it didn't sit right. "A wolf would've eaten part of the body, not leave it to fester, something of substance, liver the heart. It's almost as if violence itself was the main goal," he assessed in his mind.

  "Bear, maybe?" he mumbled, almost to himself. The thought only made him more uneasy, wolves were dangerous, but a bear was an unpredictable force of nature.

  "Bear, wolf-hell even a beast from the old stories-it doesn't matter," Rourke cut in, his voice deep and echoing through the clearing. He stood tall around 6"2, dwarfing the majority of villagers. Broad shoulders and a rugged build, he swung his axe onto his shoulder as if it were a feather. "Jonas, you can't let fear creep in. If it moves, kill it. If it bleeds, you win."

  Jonas glanced up at him, frowning. Rourke's strong jawline and steel blue-eyes held a glint of mischief that made him both charismatic and intimidating. "And if it doesn't?"

  Rourke smirked, brows furrowing as he leaned forward with playful defiance. "If something out there wants trouble, we’ll give it trouble. Simple as that."

  Rourke stood strong, unmoving at the edge of the group, exuding confidence that was almost infectious. The kind of man that could walk into the jaws of a bear and come out grinning. But Jonas caught a flicker of something in his eyes-a shadow of doubt, brief but unmistakable. As soon as it came it disappeared, replaced by his usual bravado.

  The villagers laughed-some nervously while others genuinely appreciated the break in tension. Rourke grinned from ear to ear, and clapped a nearby man on the shoulder. The villagers nodded in union, reassured by his certainty. Jonas however, wasn't so sure.

  Still crouched, Jonas looked up at him. "You'd get that close to a bear? That's bold, even for you."

  "Bold or smart," Rourke replied with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that matched his tousled dark brown hair. “You don’t give them time to think, Jonas. Same as anything else—you act first, think second. You ought to try it sometime.”

  Jonas stood and brushed the dampness from his trousers. "That's what gets people killed," he quipped flatly, though his tone lacking sharpness.

  "And not acting gets you nowhere," Rourke countered playfully but firmly, his sun-kissed skin and calloused hands reflecting years of hard living.

  Jonas turned back to the carcass, unease deepening within him. The violence felt… wrong. Wolves killed to eat; bears might attack in defense. But this—it felt deliberate. He didn’t voice that thought—not yet.

  Cutting through Jonas's thought process, the sound of boots crunching through frost announced a blonde young man as he stepped forward, his golden hair catching the morning sun. His appearance was striking, out of place for a village so plain and rugged. His sharp angular features and thin pursed lips gave him a permanent air of dissatisfaction. Dressed practically, his clothes were cleaner and seemed to fit better than everyone else around him.

  There was an edge to his tone, accusatory, as though every word that shot from his mouth was a calculated jab. Despite his youth, perhaps no older than 20, he carried himself with a self-assuredness that bordered on arrogance. His pale blue eyes shifted amongst the group, as if intentionally trying to make them uncomfortable.

  Jonas had seen the way the villagers averted their eyes and stiffened their shoulders upon his arrival. "Lucien the Outsider." he half-smiled to himself. Even though he had lived in the village for years, many still saw him as an outsider due to his polished demeanor and privileged upbringing. “The Outsider,” they called him. As if any of them had seen beyond the village gates in their miserable lives.

  His voice carried a sharpness that cut through the tension, each syllable dripping with disdain. "This could have been much worse. Who left the gate open? If the watchmen from the previous shift had done their job, we wouldn’t have had to deal with this mess."

  An older man, Osric near the back with stooped shoulders from decades of hard labor narrowed his eyes. Calloused hands gripping the middle of his staff. "Watch your words, boy," he muttered, slow and steady. The grey in his beard streaked across his face as he leveled his gaze at Lucien. "That gate's stood through more winters than you’ve been alive, and so have I".

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  Lucian tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint, dismissive smirk. "Age doesn’t excuse negligence," he replied smoothly, his tone just sharp enough to bite.

  The watchman let out a slow breath, his knuckles tightening slightly on the staff. "And silver tongues don’t keep wolves out," he rebutted, the words laced with quiet venom. He turned his gaze to the carcass, his expression hardening. Osric’s voice was steady, his words measured. "Try standing out there night after night, staring into the dark, wondering if the next shadow will have teeth."

  "Enough," Rourke snapped, his voice cutting through the rising tension like an axe through wood. "Arguing won’t change a damn thing."

  A moment of silence sat in the air, unwilling to interfere in the conflict.

  "Well I suppose someone must clean this mess," Lucien said, brushing a nonexistent speck of dirt from his coat. He gave Jonas a brief, dismissive glance before turning heel.

  “We should move it,” a villager suggested hesitantly, stepping forward with wide eyes that flicked toward the woods. “Bury it or burn it. It’s not right leaving it here.”

  Rourke shrugged, his posture confident and ready for action. “Fine by me. But whatever did this… I wouldn’t mind crossing paths with it.”

  Jonas stepped back, thoughts tangled in his mind. The most horrifying detail was the absence of scavengers. No crows circled, no foxes approached, despite the stench of iron-rich blood and decay thick enough to claw at the back of the throat. "Nothing came to claim the feast, something must've kept them away" he pondered, "Maybe they were smarter than us."

  The picture echoed hollowly within him. The shredded remains told a story he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. As the villagers moved and began to clear, Jonas lingered for a moment, gaze fixed on the flattened grass and blood-soaked earth. Even nature itself seemed to recoil from the scene. Flies, impossibly active in the winter chill, buzzed sluggishly around the corpse, their swollen bodies glistening with filth. The air carried a tangible weight, a cloying mix of rot and something sour, something wrong.

  The removal of the macabre corpse lay with Jonas and Rourke. Unfortunately their roles as watchmen set them to work immediately. Luckily for them, Lucien's words must have struck a sore spot, as Osric insisted on 'finding the loose parts of flesh and tucking them back together.'

  As Osric approached the carcass, he paused, steadying himself for what was to come. The sight was beyond grim, he could feel waves of nausea wash over him. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the task ahead. He wouldn't touch it with his hands, glancing around for some help. A long branch lay nearby flat. He used it as an extension of his arm to poke loose flesh without getting close.

  Carefully and deliberately, Osric began to manipulate pieces of torn flesh, trying to puzzle the remnants together. He tucked the shredded bits back together, trying to make it look normal, like a creature that had once lived. Lifting sinew that clung to the deer's ribcage, frowning at the texture as he nudged it back into place. "This doesn't feel right." he muttered under his breath, his voice breaking. As he continued to work, his hands trembled-not just from the cold but the grotesque tapestry he had formed was beginning to take its toll. It still looked horrific but at least some parts weren't hanging loosely. "Why did I offer to do this?" he thought, a mix of ego and duty clearing his mind. He glanced at Rourke and Jonas, searching for reassurance in their presence. "This is still a creature of the wild and deserves some dignity," he justified, forcing himself to continue.

  The two watchmen set to work immediately, gathering dry bush and fallen branches from nearby trees. Rourke's broad frame had made quick work of hauling larger pieces back to the site. "Grab some straw from the barn," Rourke suggested, pointing to the closest storing shed. "It'll help catch the fire faster."

  Jonas nodded and hurried off to collect the straw, while Rourke arranged the wood into a small pyre near the carcass.

  Once they had enough materials, Jonas returned with bundles of straw. Osric had done a fine job putting the gory puzzle back together. He looked worse for wear, pale and eyes full of dread. Together, they grasped the deer by its legs, trying to maneuver it without touching the most gruesome parts. As they lifted, Jonas caught something rising in Osric's throat. "For all that is filth, it smells worse up close." said the old watchman gagging slightly as he fought his instincts to gag.

  "Just focus on getting it on the pyre," Jonas urged, his own stomach churning but determined to see it through.

  They laid it atop the wood pile and positioned the deer carcass in the center with Oric's help. Rourke pulled out his flint and steel, striking them together until sparks ignited the straw. The flames flickered to life, crackling and consuming the straw before it spread to the wood. The watchmen stood back as the fire grew.

  The flames devoured the deer, crackling with glee, their light melting the frost. The arid stench of burning flesh crawled at their nostrils, dense and bitter, swimming in the smoke that floated towards the grey sky. Heat that pulsed from the pyre seared their faces and forearms, keeping the cold from their bones. The fire swallowed the putrid remains, fat hissing and spitting where it met searing embers. The snow below the pyre had melted into a slurry of ash-streaked mud. A log popped loudly, scattering sparks into the air. Rourke took a step backwards brushing embers from his sleeve. "Smells worse than death." he muttered, as his nose wrinkled in disgust.

  The pungent scent of rot and smoke only grew. As the smoke began to bellow Osric's resolve began to falter, the stench unbearable. "I... I can't do this," Osric gasped, stepping back further. "I need some air. "The smell... its like its still alive."

  Rourke looked at him with understanding. "Its not for everyone," he said with sympathy. "You did your part."

  Jonas didn't reply, even in the scorching flames, the carcass seemed to resist-its bones refusing to crumble. It wasn't just the smell that turned his stomach; it was the wrongness of it all. The heat of the fire had licked at his face but it wasn't enough to burn away the image of the deer's contorted smile. "Even in death it refused to let go." he thought.

  Osric took one last glance towards the deer before turning away completely "I'll head back to the village. my shift is long since over." With that he swiftly broke away from the scene, desperate for fresh air.

  As the flames danced higher, the heat radiated against their faces, in stark contrast to the air that surrounded them. "We should keep watch until its fully burned," Rourke said, his voice firm but laced with an edge of concern. "We don't want anyone else wandering out here."

  Jonas nodded in agreement. As they watched both men reflected on what this might mean for their village. "What do you think could do this?" Jonas asked after a moment of silence.

  Rourke shrugged, his shoulders moving slightly as he leaned against a near tree. "It's nature, Jonas. It can be brutal. But this..." He paused, his expression changing from his usual confidence to something more contemplative. "This feels different. Wolves kill for food. Bears defend their territory."

  Jonas couldn't help but agree, feeling a knot of unease tighten at the base of his stomach. "Osric mentioned it too. Something worse than wolves," pausing briefly before continuing in a hushed tone. "Nothing came to claim this slaughter, no birds circled nor sat perched on trees, not even a chirp. What if it's not just animals we're dealing with?"

  Rourke smiled slightly but turned serious again. "You think its something unknown? Like those old stories?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness to it.

  "I don't know," Jonas admitted. "But I can't shift the feeling that something is wrong." He looked towards the crooked woods, just beyond the flickering light of their fire.

  Rourke straightened, pushing off the tree "Come on Jonas, you can't let fear take hold like that. If we start thinking like that we'd never get anything done." Rourke stepped closer, his expression softening as he placed his hand on Jonas's shoulder. "We're watchmen for a reason. We keep our eyes open and our weapons sharp."

  Jonas sighed and took a deep breath, letting Rourke's confidence wash over him like a warm blanket against the never ending cold. "Alright," he said finally, nodding in agreement. "Let's keep watch."