"Septangel 12 of the year 26. The dawn was cold, and light could barely penetrate the morning gloom. The Bontarian outposts, held by the knights of the Order, were white with the first signs of frost, the sentinels numb from the early onset of winter. They huddled around the braziers, trying in vain to warm up. The forest, whose multitude of little noises usually started rustling to life at this hour of the morning, was completely silent but for a cry that had been heard several times during the night. At first, the sentinels had paid it no heed, but now they squinted into the distance towards its apparent source in the south. The cry – which they couldn't believe had come from the throat of any ordinary creature – was getting closer.
