Lost Creek Hollow lady in the water

Anyone wanna be stalked a little? (Side note: roll a 1d15, kill him on a 15!)

There was a legend about the creek of this place - it wasn't known to the residents, but rather the pests that frequented the area. Rumors which had turned in to a full-fledged myth even before the wolves had come upon the water. Barton had heard the basics of it, and was lured in. Something about an offering being given in exchange for wishes. With winter settling in and Barton nowhere near the level of preparation he should've achieved, he was ready to test this myth. But to do so, he'd have to sneak past the wolves that lurked in the area.

He'd made it beyond the edge of their garrison like a true thief; taking time to roll in their collective scent whenever the pungent odor could be found. It was foul, this smell. The musk of urine and wolf scent, hiding him for the time being while fleet steps carried him through the bog. He thought he had been spotted on more than one occasion, and hastily ducked beneath a log or lunged to keep his wiry form concealed in shadow; at least two different wolves passed him, hurrying along for their own purpose, and when they departed he felt his paranoia lessen.

Just a few more feet - he could smell the water - just a few more, and he'd be at the creek's edge.