Moonspear said the thief to the moon

The sun had dipped behind the distant mountain peaks hours earlier. Once darkness had swept across the wilds, the temperature had fallen, and the snow-dusted world seemed to fall into a peculiar hush. The winds had carried a promise of winter storms. When night had fallen, the winds had died down to a quiet lull that drifted lazily across the wilderness. Its bite was painful and bone chilling, but soft enough to draw a restless body to the mouth of the den. The echoes of the draft against the stone created a noise similar to howling. It was haunting, but completely void of life, so this had compelled the young shadow to rise from his slumber and turn to the mouth of the shelter with perked ears and glistening golden eyes.
 
Once he had stepped to the outside of the den, he breathed in that taste of winter tempest on the air and shivered. With a heavy breath, Atlas began to move down the mountain a short ways. He sought the shelter of the trees that were nearer to the base. Not far enough that he would be scolded for disobeying his mother, but just close enough to such a punishment that it set his neck hairs standing straight up. A rush that would not last, for the chill on the air had reminded him of how warm the den was.
 
Atlas drew his crown toward the heavens, searching the dark backdrop for signs of glittering stars. He was met with the sight of tumbling grey clouds that seemed to adopt shapes and sizes that he had never witnessed before. This did not frighten him so much as it burned him with curiosity; like a wildfire in the dead of summer. A gust of wind gathered snowfall and peppered his face with the chunks of ice. He closed his eyes against the touch of it and inhaled deeply. The trees were not far ahead of him, so the wolf of the mountain quickened his pace until he had reached the start of the looming woods.

atlas was not the only soul to lie awake that night, listening to the howl of the intemperate winds. arcturus had made his den in the lowlands, and listened in silence as high above the gale took on an ethereal, strident note.

he shrugged the snow from his pelt and rose. if he was not to sleep tonight, he would be useful — he had noticed the far edge of their borders had become somewhat stale as of late, no doubt because the lack of prey had driven most of the spear inwards.

he was not alone in the chill quiet of the forest. ahead he heard the crunch of snow, the soft spill of shadows against crisp moonlit snow — his eyes rested upon atlas in silence, curious, but not admonishing as he strode to match the boy’s slinking gait.