Slayer

The air suddenly grows unnaturally cold, and the smell of dead winter leaves fills the room. You turn, but the hallway behind you has stretched into an impossibly long tunnel of shadows. From the darkness, a tall man steps forward, his boots making no sound on the floorboards as he notches a black-feathered arrow to a heavy bow.

You move quite loudly for someone trying to stay hidden, he says, his voice like the grinding of ice. In the wolf dream, your thoughts shine as bright as a signal fire. I could have ended this a mile back, but I wanted to see if you were actually worth the effort of a chase. Tell me, do you know who has sent me, or are you as ignorant of your fate as a lamb in the High Passes? He tilts his head, his piercing blue eyes tracking your every heartbeat.