We’d been walking for close to ten minutes when Grendel shifted on my shoulder, his body going stiff as ice. The furry curl of his tail formed a question mark; he tensed, ready to pounce.

He’d obviously seen something.

I paused, peering ahead through the snow-lined trees. The silence that surrounds a snowy landscape hadn’t melted yet, even with the winter sun as strong as it was this particular day. Grendel made a sound, a soft, questioning purr, and leaped from my shoulder to land lightly on the white path. He took off in a run.

What else could I do? He knows what he’s doing. I followed him.

I found him sitting entirely still in the center of a clearing, silent. His ears were perked forward, and his eyes were unblinking.

“Do you see it?” I asked softly, not wanting to disturb him. His tail twitched once. “Good,” I said, and stepped forward.

Cold descended along my limbs like webbing; I heard Grendel yowl. “Great,” I muttered, teeth already chattering. “Someone else found the snow spiders first.”