The night was long and uneasy.
No one in the camp truly slept.
They had been ordered to extinguish most of the campfires once darkness fell. Only a few dim lanterns remained, their light faintly flickering against the canvas walls of the tents.
Beyond those small circles of safety, the ridge was swallowed by darkness.
The wind was cold, carrying the scent of rotten carrion. Somewhere far off, something howled.
The first time it happened, every man and woman froze. The sound echoed across the plains, sounding deep, mournful, and far too long.
It wasn't the cry of any normal beast. It carried a kind of hunger that made the skin crawl.
Minutes later, came another, shorter this time, closer.
Then another.
And then dozens.
And so the night continued, with a noise breaking the silence every few minutes.
Screeches, roars, and guttural calls that didn't sound like they came from throats meant for speech. The horde was out there, somewhere in the dark beyond the ridge.
