The first rays of true sunlight, pale and hesitant, bled across the eastern horizon, painting the village in hues of fragile gold. The fragile peace of dawn shattered not with a gentle awakening, but with a bloodcurdling scream that ripped through the village like a jagged shard of ice.
Enzo, who was fast asleep shot out of bed. Panic, cold and swift, clawed at Enzo's throat. He ran out of his house, towards the eastern edge of the woods. Maeve's small cottage was the only dwelling occupied by a woman near the eastern edge.
The sound abruptly cut short, replaced by a sickening thud. Panic, a venomous serpent, coiled in Enzo’s gut. This wasn’t like the empty burning homes that they had been expecting, this was an outright attack.