A farmer went into the woods for firewood—but he found something chilling encased in ice.

“The ice itself suggests it’s been preserved for thousands of years,” she added.

Victor adjusted his glasses, peering in. “Those proportions… this is definitely not a modern species. But I’ll need clearer visuals to be sure.”

They unpacked portable scanners, their equipment humming in the still air. Sophie translated the jargon for Henry, who watched with equal parts curiosity and dread.

“The biggest risk,” Clara explained, “is an uneven thaw. A single fracture could destroy the specimen—or destabilize it entirely.”

Henry’s jaw tightened. “So what’s the next move?”

Sophie replied, “Keep it cold until we’re ready for transport. But first, we’ll try to identify it.”

They worked well into the night, the ice block glowing faintly under their lights.

By morning, the team gathered around a portable monitor. Victor tapped the screen, grinning.

“Based on the scans and skeletal proportions, I’m almost certain this is a prehistoric ground sloth—Pleistocene epoch.”

Henry blinked. “You’re telling me that thing is a giant sloth?”

Victor chuckled. “Not the slow tree-climbers you know—these were massive, powerful creatures that roamed this region thousands of years ago.”

Sophie’s voice carried quiet pride. “This is one of the best-preserved specimens ever found.”

Henry exhaled, a laugh escaping. “And here I thought it was some kind of monster. A sloth’s… downright friendly compared to what I imagined.”

With the specimen stabilized, the team arranged its transport to a university lab. News spread quickly—Pine Hollow buzzed with reporters, scientists, and curious locals. Henry’s once-quiet lodge became the epicenter of a historic find.

He was proud, though bittersweet, as the block left under careful escort. His small town was now part of something far bigger.

Months later, the sloth stood as the crown jewel of a natural history exhibit, drawing crowds from across the country. Pine Hollow’s forests were no longer just a backdrop—they were the birthplace of a story written in ice.

One winter afternoon, Henry wandered deeper into the woods, snow crunching underfoot. A flash of light caught his eye—a gleam off the riverbank.

A massive block of ice stood there, glistening in the pale sun. Inside, a shadow stirred in the frost.

The forest’s silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural. Henry’s gut tightened. He didn’t know it yet, but he was about to stumble onto another discovery—one that would turn his life upside down all over again.