Tattered-Dreams

The powdery winter snow lay deep; a glittering white carpet beneath the black, bare branches of the skeletal Never Wood. A single creature’s tracks had cut deep furrows through the blank canvas, and they were already filling over as large clusters of snowflakes fell from the colourless sky. Briel sighed, his breath puffing out into a white cloud in the frigid air. Beneath him, his bay horse tossed her head and whickered restlessly. “This way,” he called over his shoulder signalling ahead between the trees to the two other riders. “Loose the dogs.” One of the men, Griffin, they called him, leant low over his ho