/lit/ - Literature

The carriage rattled along, cold air biting at the coachman’s lungs. His eyes darted from side to side. The trees thrust out at him, contorting into monsters. But every now and then he would see a pair of icy blue eyes. He shivered, glancing back at his wares: salted meats, foreign drinks, tableware made of solid gold. A shitload of trouble would fall on him if he were to see them lost. Gulping, he cracked his whip. The town was up ahead. If he could just wait a few minutes, he’d be striking it rich.

A figure pounced from the foliage, tearing open the horse’s neck. It whinnied as it fell, sending shards of ice into the coachman’s face. With nothing to lead it, the carriage toppled into a tree. Climbing from the wreckage and coughing up clumps of blood, he saw the wolf-like-beast bare its fangs, blood-soaked and sharp. But what struck him most were its pair of eyes, cold as the season.