The trees seemed to stretch toward the sky with spindly wicked little fingers. The seafarer trotted beneath them with a surefooted pace. His shoulders swayed with each step, rolling his figure into a predatory image of white on white. The maples had long since lost their leaves, turning them from a flame-tipped wonderland into an eerie stretch of bleak browns and greys. It made very little difference to Smokestep. He was not keen on remaining on the land for much longer. He knew that the crash of the waves called to him and it was only a matter of time before he was reunited with her cold touch.

Pressing forward, nose to the earth, the marauder found the scent of a stranger in the earth. He trailed after it slowly until he caught sight of a female, no more than thirty yards from his location. Drawing his tongue along his dark lips, Smokestep pressed forward. He held the woman trained in his gaze, weaving between trunks and brush that littered the ground. Each step brought a soft crunch of the snow beneath his feet.

The snort brought his ears to full attention, and the pirate paused in his trek. It did not seem to be a warning. Even if it had, he would have paid it no mind. He'd noted that the wolves in the wilds were touchy folk – liked their distance. Smokestep was an invader. He stood like a pale statue, watching the she-wolf with an intense expression.