Grip of Winter

The soft crunch of the snow beneath our feet echoed hollowly through the village, bouncing off the frozen walls and returning to our ears. A large mound of snow dominated the village square, rising as high as any of the single-story homes. Unlike the pure frost coating the ground, the pile seemed much darker, crimson almost.

"They didn't…" Soltair muttered, kicking into the pile.

A sharp clatter rang out as several fragments of bone scattered before his boot. Surprised by the sudden stench of blood, which wafted through the break in the snow, I took several steps back before I steadied myself. Surely, this entire pile couldn't be…