Nights Watch by LSTree

A lone figure stands sentinel atop a snow-covered ridge under a starless sky. The air is frigid, each breath a visible puff that quickly dissipates into the night. The only sounds are the soft crunch of boots on frozen ground and the distant howl of wind weaving through skeletal trees. Cloaked in layers of dark wool and fur, the watchman grips a weathered spear, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The world feels suspended in time, as if the night itself holds its breath.