Low visibility, unnecessary noise-I was well on my way to yet another fruitless hunt.

The icy snow crunched under my fraying boots, and I ground my teeth. Stifling a groan as my stiff limbs protested at the movement, I unstrung my bow before easing off the tree. And now, with the snow, I'd be lucky to spot anything-especially from my position up in the tree, scarcely able to see fifteen feet ahead. That was all I could do, all I'd been able to do for years: focus on surviving the week, the day, the hour ahead. They would remain until the bark ran out, then travel north past the wolves' territory and perhaps into the faerie lands of Prythian-where no mortals would dare go, not unless they had a death wish.Ī shudder skittered down my spine at the thought, and I shoved it away, focusing on my surroundings, on the task ahead. Here there were no telltale trees stripped of bark to mark the deer's passing-they hadn't yet moved on. I wiped my numb fingers over my eyes, brushing away the flakes clinging to my lashes. The animals had pulled in, going deeper into the woods than I could follow, leaving me to pick off stragglers one by one, praying they'd last until spring.

Hunger had brought me farther from home than I usually risked, but winter was the hard time. The gusting wind blew thick flurries to sweep away my tracks, but buried along with them any signs of potential quarry. I'd been monitoring the parameters of the thicket for an hour, and my vantage point in the crook of a tree branch had turned useless. The forest had become a labyrinth of snow and ice.

A crown of thorns and roses