The pale, flat grey light of the overcast afternoon finally surrendered to the creeping, bitter rot of dusk.
Deep within the mutated timberland, the shadows stretching between the massive, scale-barked pine trees grew incredibly long and intensely hostile. The ambient temperature, already hovering well below freezing following the sleet storm, plummeted aggressively as the sun dipped below the unseen horizon. The air grew incredibly thin and brittle, tasting sharply of frozen pine needles, old sap, and the lingering, coppery stench of the Arboreal Stalkers Ren had butchered three miles back. Every exhalation plumed into a thick, lingering cloud of white vapor that hung motionless in the dead, freezing air.
Ren walked with the exact same heavy, measured, predatory stride he had maintained since breaching the Stadium gates.
