The antlers of the beasts branched outward like trees made of frozen lightning.
And the air around them slowed.
Not metaphorically. Actually slowed. Each breath exhaled from their nostrils condensed instantly into heavy frost clouds. The ground beneath their hooves crackled with freezing aura that radiated outward in concentric rings, and Bruce could feel it pressing against his movement, a subtle drag on every step, as though the air itself had thickened into syrup.
They weren't attacking. At least not yet. They were startled.
One elk lifted its head. Its hollow eyes, pale and luminous and utterly empty, locked onto the approaching trio.
Then it screamed.
A deep, resonant call that rolled across the plain like a shockwave, vibrating through the frost and into the marrow. The herd responded instantly, dozens, then hundreds, snow erupting beneath their hooves as they surged into coordinated motion. Not chaotic. Not panicked.
A stampede. Organized and devastating.
