When he fell for the fifth time, when his face plunged into the deep snow, when his hands burnt from the cold but he didn't care, Radu the woodcutter knew he was going to die. Somewhere behind him in the darknesses of the forest he could hear the man who had attacked him. He was scared now, almost too scared to move, almost too cold to run anymore, but still he knew something was wrong. Something that should not be.
He came to the gate of the graveyard. There could be no doubt. The wool ran over the fence... Dumbly, he gripped it, as if it were a lifeline, when in reality it was leading him towards death itself...
As surely as the snow falls softly in the forest of one hundred thousand silver birch trees, a father and son must face a soulless enemy and a terrifying destiny.
Back