Jonas resisted the urge to rise from his uneasy slumber, as the chill of the morning crept into his bones. He lay, still shivering and unwilling to move. The woolen blanket wrapped around his body offered little defense against the drafts in the wooden walls of his home. Soft light spilled through the single cracked window. He drew breath, and with each exhale his warm breath made contact with dust motes, which swirled idly in the dim glow. Jonas watched them, but the biting cold brought him back to reality. The hearth had gone cold during the night, the embers resembling nothing more than chalky ashen memories clung desperately to charred logs. 

Jonas stretched, his joints stiffened from the chill. He ran a hand through his dark, messy hair, his fingers recoiling at to the mealy residue that clung to his skin from yesterday's labor. His face, though not unpleasant, reflected the quiet weariness of someone who worked harder than his years might suggest. A faint scuffed shadow of stubble sat along his jaw, hinting at a disregard for style.

He stood with an audible groan, before fetching his worn boots from across the room. The boots, though well-worn over the years, had been repaired more times than Jonas could count. Pulling them on, he braced himself for the familiar recoil of his soles against the icy floor.

The house was barren. A sturdy wooden table dominated the interior. It was accompanied by a single chair, rugged but functional. A small shelf in the corner of the room held various mismatched plates and bowls. Above the hearth hung a heavy coat, sewn together like a patchwork of memories.

His reflection caught his eye, returning an unflattering fractured image. His eyes seemed sharp and restless, out of place for a face so otherwise unremarkable. They held a flicker of untamed curiosity, almost glimmering for an answer to unspoken questions. He looked away, half-smirking at himself.

Jonas reached for his coat, throwing it over his shoulder with practiced efficiency. His gaze lingered on the small wooden carving of a stag that sat on his windowsill, a gift from his mother, long gone. He ran his fingers over the grooves of its crude antlers, a tried and true practice he found soothing.  

The air inside the house was heavy, stale bread and damp wood permeating the room. Yet in the heaviness comfort was found. Jonas pushed open the door, a gust of icy wind greeted him, numbing his face. Jonas gazed at the village where he had grown up. Nestled within a rugged landscape, surrounded by shadowed hills, jagged faces etched with the scars of time that seemed to shift under the weight of the crepuscule. Beyond these hills, a dark forest rose, crooked limbs outstretched grasping for air. Standing in tandem, twisted in eternal agony. 

The cold carried an oppressive silence. The village may have seemed quaint, with its thatched roofs and crooked earthen paths. For those that lived here, all was not as it seemed, leaving memories of things best left unspoken. It was a place where the wind carried strange echoes, where even the birds refused to sing their songs for fear of what might answer. And yet, the villagers endured, their small fires casting brief flickers of warmth against the encroaching abyss. This was their home—a sanctuary perched precariously on the edge of darkness, where the line between the living and the lurking was perilously thin.

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The village spread out before him, a knot of homes, huddled together from the blanket of snow. Jonas pacing his steps noticed a cluster of villagers gathered by the fence, their voices low. Martha leaning heavily against the wooden post, gesturing eagerly, her auburn curls peering from the worn scarf tied around the nape of her neck. 

"Did you hear about what they found?" she asked, keeping her voice low. Her freckled face bright from knowing that she would be the first to share the news. "It was right outside the gate, they said."

Eli stood close, his arms crossed, nodding solemnly. "Aye. Mangled, they said. Not just killed—torn apart and left to rot."

Lena stood opposite from the post, clutching her shawl even tighter around her slender shoulders. Dark strands of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. "What kind of beast does that?" she murmured. "Its been so quiet lately... everything has gone still."

Martha's green eyes twinkled as she leaned closer to Lena. "You know the old tales," she whispered. Her cadence dropped, looking over her shoulder into the darkened forest. "They say there are things out there that hunt for sport, not hunger. Things that don't belong, long since forgotten."

Eli shifted uncomfortably, his leathery hand tightening over his arm as the dim morning light caste streaks over his greying hair. "Hmmm, I wish you wouldn't peddle tales, things like this can be explained."

Martha's smile faltered slightly but was quickly undone as she spoke staring into Lena's brown eyes. "It has been quiet lately, even Thomas said he has heard things at dark. Said he's seen shadows moving through his fields."

Lena whose face crinkled in horror, began, "Sh.. sh...shadows?" Lena’s voice trembled, her wide eyes betraying disbelief.

Before she could continue, Thomas who stood on the periphery of the group. Pushed his unkempt black hair out of his sleepless eyes, and stepped forward. "I said I thought I saw something. Don't put words in my mouth," his eyes glancing at Martha with irritation. 

"Well, if it walks like a shadow and hunts like a shadow..." Martha chortled, though her usual bravado was subdued by the tension in the air. 

Jonas slowed his pace as he approached the group, the frost covered path crackling under his boots as he did so. They turned to face him, halting their conversation. Their eyes still holding a mix of apprehension and relief.

"You're all up early," Jonas said, his voice steady but weary. His eyes moved between the members of the group, catching the way Lena's fingers fidgeted with the ends of her shawl and the way Eli shifted uncomfortably. "What's this about, mangled and torn apart?"

Eli clearing his throat glanced towards the entrance of the village. "Its just outside the gates of the village. Rourke is already there, said he'd wait for you but you know him."

Jonas nodded, his expression unreadable, his gaze faltering on the edge of the forest. "He couldn't just wait," he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath as his mind beginning to race. Without another word he took off towards the direction of the gate, leaving the murmurs of the group behind.