Jade Fern Grove bilge water baptism

There was a heavy fog rolling through the valley just as the moon reached it's apex. The way in which the stolen sunlight caught upon the moon's face meant that this fog was also illuminated; this did not make it easier for the wolf as he traveled, not like he'd hoped. It was an incongruent shine he followed. Here one moment, there another, shifting seemingly with a whim of it's own. But it was enough illumination to ease him onwards, quiet and inconspicuous, through the fresh powder that had fallen in the daylight.
It was not his own design that rooted him to the spot now, surrounded by the eerie sight of familiar trees clad in ice. He had been in hot pursuit of a lonely old elk the last he recalled. He had been tracking it and doggedly following for hours; at first it had been a game to keep him moving, keep him warm, but it had become something much more than that. The pull of his instincts had turned a game of cat-and-mouse in to something much more dire. Yet here he was, without his quarry and surrounded by ghosts.
The forest was silent. It was empty save for the faintest of memories. He did not want to linger long within it's depths, yet the fog was too thick for him to see through - the forest was a winding maze and he got turned around more times than he could count. With a frustrated grunt he looked skyward, as if the moon held some answers (or maybe some blame), and then veered through the trees at a good clip, trying to find his way through the grove and into the open expanse of the valley.