a brighter flame

There is a cry in the dark shrouds of LongNight. Nothing akin to monster screeches of the Hollowed Grounds nor the partying sounds of Torchline. This one is different, this one is bright, and this one is not human. It echoes off the walls of the homes that dot Snowcloak, hidden among the snowy recesses and dips and curves, somewhere back beyond the homes, somewhere close to the edge toward the Tundra.  Almost as if something has just arrived, and it’s in pain. And so the cries begin anew, whimpering, until it’s quieted by a blanket of ice cold wind.