Twisted Slough in the big rock candy mountains, all the cops have wooden legs

All welcome! WoooOOOooo~ What’s that scary noise?

NOTE: Each of the traveling threads is a day apart. ♥ This is day six, March 26, 2017.

The thick miasma of rotting wood and murkwater was a drastic change from the clean openness of the seaside plateau, but although Lotte’s muzzle contorted into an involuntary grimace, she didn’t really mind the uninviting scenery. It wasn’t her turn to play sentry, but she found herself wandering nonetheless as tendrils of fog swept in and warped the silhouettes of her fellows into gruesome, unrecognizable shapes.

An unearthly groan with no discernible origin struck the air, starting low and sonorous and guttural before it rose in pitch and volume, breaking at its apex into a bloodcurdling shriek. It was a sound unlike anything Lotte had ever heard before, and her dark lips curved instinctively as she issued a soft warning growl directed toward whoever — or whatever — had caused it. Pivoting neatly, she turned to the wolves of Teaghlaigh with an expression of concern, but as she opened her mouth to voice her concerns, a piercingly cold wind whipped painfully through the moors, slapping hard against every wolf present.

Lotte sucked in a harsh breath as a cramp doubled her over, and in that moment the very earth seemed to shake as the thunder of what sounded like a multitude of hooves filled the air — but no matter which way Banríon looked, there was nothing to be seen. Deep draughts of the sour air seemed devoid of prey scent, though the smoke-and-shadow rogue could easily have been upwind from the phantom herd, and she turned to her packmates with an intent air, barely able to discern the wolf shapes in the fog.