the winter is different.
The stars, for one thing. All of the constellations have different shapes and strange names. And the moons — nobody can agree on how many there are — wax and wane on their own mysterious schedule.
Then there’s the way the air feels. Everything crisper, a little more charged, with flickers of motion at the edge of your vision that disappear when you turn to look.
Standing in your regular kitchen, stirring regular soup, you might wonder why that matters. Tasting for salt, you might even ask out loud: “What does any of that have to do with me?”
That’s when you hear the train whistle in the distance — like an answer, like an invitation.
The trains around here haven’t run for years.
And then, faintly, a coyote howls back.
Coyote?! Surely not a coyote. There aren’t any coyotes in these parts… are there?
Maybe not in your regular town, in a regular winter.
But this is the Long Night Games.
And they’re calling to you.