It was still chasing them.

  The snow and darkness muffled the hoofbeats, their sound further drowned beneath the thunder of blood pounding in the girls' ears as they fled.

  Savannah didn't know what was after them—it stayed just out of sight, crashing through the brush, keeping the trees between them.

  It didn’t use the trail; It wanted cover.

  Trusting her mare to hold course, she risked a glance over her shoulder.

  Two legs, but too tall to be a man.

  And too fast.

  How was it pacing their horses with only two legs?

  The trees thinned as they neared the ranch, and now, in the breaks of moonlight, she could see it.

  A shifting silhouette, its surface catching the light like the sleek coat of a well-groomed horse.

  The moonlight slid over it in waves, never quite settling.

  Dark and darker.

  Savannah whipped forward just in time to spot Sierra drawing her revolver.

  Her stomach lurched.

  "No shooting!" she shrieked, voice cracking.

  Sierra shot anyway.

  An orange flash lit the trees, a sharp crack split the night, and a streak of fire cut through the dark.

  The shot slammed into a tree, sending up a spray of bark and sawdust.

  Her aim was wide, but that shouldn’t have mattered–Sierra had expected a reaction regardless—a flinch, a stumble, a curse from some asshole in a mask.

  Nothing.

  The thing didn’t slow. Didn’t startle.

  Didn’t give a damn.

  "Cecil!" Savannah’s voice was shrill with adrenaline. Her head snapped back, desperate to see if it had worked.

  "Shut up!" Sierra fired back, the words a bullet of their own.

  She jammed her revolver back into its holster, and both girls leaned hard into their saddles, urging their horses faster.

  Whatever it was, it wasn't afraid of being shot.

  —

  Their horses' breath filled the air with smoke.

  Savannah began to worry they were asking too much of the animals–then she saw the edge of the tree line.

  "Don't go for the barn!" she called ahead, breath ragged. "We'll get trapped!"

  Sierra didn't respond, but when she broke through the trees she veered north, away from the barn and down the slope leading to the ranch.

  The house flickered in the distance, a speck of warmth against the black-and-white of the snow-covered landscape.

  Savannah flew into the open a moment later.

  The cold hit harder out of the trees, finding every gap in her coat.

  She directed Vesper to follow the trail her sister had cleared, putting distance between herself and the tree line before risking a look back.

  Nothing.

  The woods were still.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  No movement. No shifting shadow between the trees.

  Only the slow groan of branches in the wind, the frozen quiet settling over the trail.

  Pulling up on her reins, Vesper stamping and snorting in protest beneath her, Savannah called out again. "Cecil, stop."

  Sierra didn’t stop.

  Partly because she hated being called Cecil by anyone but Uncle Cal.

  Partly because she hated when her older sister barked orders at her.

  Definitely not because she was scared.

  —

  Sierra did stop a moment later, when she saw her Uncle.

  A grizzly bear of a man with dark black hair to his shoulders, and a beard she had never seen him trim, carrying a streak of grey down the middle, a little off center.

  His long coat hung open over a stained undershirt, scattergun heavy in his hands. He had heard the shot and come.

  His boots crunched through the crusted ice, his breath short and fast.

  She should have seen him sooner, but she'd been tucked so low in her saddle that Nugget's mane had blinded her.

  Now she saw the dogs too, anxious but obedient, waiting at the edge of the porch.

  Sierra exhaled, loosening her grip on the reins; Nugget slowed to a trot, and she guided him in a smooth circle, returning to draw alongside her sister.

  —

  Vesper was still snorting and stomping, weaving slightly left and right. Savannah's left hand stroked her mare's neck, encouraging calm, but she was otherwise still and silent.

  Sitting tall in her saddle, studying the trees, listening.

  She didn’t just hear—she listened.

  The forest talked. Creaking branches, the rustle of a critter, distant yips of scavengers.

  She had always been a listener.

  She would lie in bed as a girl, in the dark, listening to her Uncle move about. She learned each creaky floorboard, the rhythm of his steps, which room he was in, where he was headed next.

  She would listen to the wind outside, training her ears to catch the difference between the abrupt rustle of something moving through the branches and the steady whisper of the breeze weaving between them.

  Even silence had a sound, if you listened closely enough.

  Right now, she heard only her Uncle’s boots, crunching to a stop beside her.

  The forest was holding its breath.

  Vesper stilled.

  Savannah, now safe between her sister and Uncle, closed her eyes.

  The silence pressed in—heavy, unnatural.

  The kind of quiet that told you something else was listening too.

  Something whose attention the forest did not want.

  —

  The three of them stood there for a long moment, a little picket line where the porch light faded, staring into the trees.

  Finally, Uncle Cal spoke.

  "You shot at something."

  "I told her not to." Savannah's reply was instant, instinctive—annoying both her companions.

  "Some thing was chasing us! Like, really chasing! Scary chasing!" Sierra blurted in defense.

  Callan scanned the trees for a long moment, the scattergun pointed at the ground but requiring only a small shift of his offhand to bring to bear.

  "Put the horses away," he ordered. "Tell me about it in the house." His breath curled in the air.

  "I'm cold."

  —-

  The girls stayed well clear of the trees until they reached the fence line, then followed it closely to the gate.

  Sierra swung from Nugget’s back first, moving with an easy rhythm that only came from repetition.

  She loosened the reins, ran a gloved hand down the gelding’s neck, and gave him two firm pats. "Good job, boy," she murmured, her voice still carrying the edge of adrenaline.

  Savannah followed a beat later, dismounting with less flair but the same practiced efficiency. Vesper tossed her head, nostrils flaring, still keyed up from the chase.

  Savannah ran a palm down the mare’s shoulder, feeling the tension there, then slid her fingers under the girth strap to loosen it. Her hands moved instinctively, and her ears stayed tuned to the woods.

  She closed and latched the gate.

  Callan had waited where he was until he heard the sound of the latch clicking.

  Now he turned toward the house, scattergun slung over one arm.

  Reaching the porch, he gave the large Rottweiler a pat on the head and spared a “good girl” for the smaller border collie before turning back to the woods.

  Cal leaned heavily against the wall and the three of them kept their eyes on the trees.

  —

  Sierra led Nugget into the barn first, guiding him into his stall and unclipping his bridle.

  Nugget huffed and shoved his nose into the hay rack before she even had a chance to pull the saddle.

  "Yeah, I know. You almost died," she lifted the saddle from his back with a grunt of effort. "Time to eat away the trauma."

  Savannah took her time with Vesper, making sure the mare had cooled down enough before uncinching the saddle completely.

  Vesper’s ears twitched as the wind rattled the barn doors, but nothing else stirred.

  That unnatural silence had lifted.

  The night had returned to normal.

  Sierra hung Nugget’s bridle and dusted her gloves against her jeans.

  "He’s not gonna let this slide," she muttered.

  Savannah pulled Vesper’s saddle free and set it over the rail, the weight of the night settling on her shoulders.

  "I know."