Moonsong Glacier fəˈnediks

The thin wolf shook his head as though offering a silent answer to an unspoken question, then bundled his muscles in his legs and sprang into a trot. Fingers of fog clawed down from the blue-grey sky, chilling Aquarius to the bone. The aches and pains of his long journey made walking at a fast clip miserable, but it was better than the alternative. He cast his head low between his shoulders and descended along the shattered line where glacier met mountainside, white shoulders raised as if to ward off the gloom.

A sharp stench on the northerly wind made him glance up, wild-eyed, for signs of danger, but a second sample of the air told Aquarius it was only sulphur. He soothed away the tension by dropping his hinds to the dew-wet ground and abruptly stroked his tongue down his foreleg, grimacing at the acrid taste of death found there. All the while his eyes darted over the forest below, seeking out the frightful orange tongue of the Beast rising among the trees.