Greatwater Lake though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

Wirt dipped and shimmied underneath the evergreen, the branches tickling his face. The boughs formed arched to provide a roomier hideaway than he could have guessed from the outside, and snow packed to insulate the interior from the wind and cold. With a turn of his head this way and that, Wirt back out and shook the needles from his snout. Prime real estate. This would do wonderfully. The lack of birds was a bonus - he had the utmost confidence this time, he wouldn't be hunted as a grouse.

With his sleeping quarters settled and his throat quenched, he obliged the deep rumble of his stomach and dropped his snout to pick up any signs of prey. The forest didn't immediately swarm with options - yet his brow pinched. Wolf. Normal enough - but he gathered a familiar scent, and something sinister... 

A cry rent the night, and Wirt felt every hair on his body rise. His breath caught, and his blood froze. He stood as a statue, melded at once with the shadows - a practised art that had saved him many times. His only movement came in the turn of his ear. The voice had come from the shore - distorted, pained, in trouble. He waited a second more, but it did not rise again.

Many thoughts presented themselves for him to assess, many reasons and worries of what could have provoked such a scream. He was no fighter, and was not prepared to ward off evil with his teeth, but the cry had been a woman's cry, and her distress spurred him forward. Fear reared inside, dark and ugly. He prayed. I will fear no evil, for You are with me. Wirt pushed through the bushes dividing him and the shore, and squinted, hoping he was not too late. But she was alone. Her silhouette cut a bright patch against the darkness, yet through the dim shadows of dawn, he could not recognize her, though she seemed somehow familiar to him. "Who's there?" his voice trembled. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.