The Guardian's Riddle

The air grew thin and sharp as they climbed, each breath a sting in their lungs. The snow, once a soft blanket, had hardened into a crusty, unforgiving surface that crunched under Ragnar’s heavy paws and echoed in the silence. Corvus, wings beating steadily, circled above, his keen eyes scanning the desolate landscape. Luna, ever the optimist, nudged Ragnar with her nose, her tail giving a small, hopeful wag. Willow trotted close behind, her soft brown eyes reflecting the stark white of the mountains.

They had followed the wind’s direction, a subtle shift in its song that Corvus alone could truly hear, a promise of a path less traveled, a chance to bypass the treacherous ridges they had already navigated. But now, the wind seemed to sigh, a mournful sound that ruffled Corvus’s feathers and settled a chill deeper than the biting air.

“It’s… quiet,” Luna whispered, her voice barely a puff of steam in the cold. “Too quiet, Corvus.”