Haunted Wood winter is coming

The images became clear for a split second. He saw a series of black blobs that sharpened to points where ears grew, blunted snouts, small paws. The snow eddied and shaped a gray shape and he thought he spied familiar orange streaks, and trained his eye upon the image; but it wasn't something he recognized, and as the wind shot through the grove the spectral image dissolved, the orange streaks replaced with sharp golden eyes. He hadn't heard the stranger speak but the air grew stale as if they had said something, and he made a small sound - or tried to, a little whine that caught in his dead throat.

The snow didn't collect as heavily underneath the trees, so he squished himself against the trunks and tried to warm himself up. The stranger didn't leave him. Gradually Mou came back to himself and realized they were real. Whatever he had been seeing — the icy grotto and the shapes of children he couldn't recognize — were forgotten for now. He beckoned the stranger closer with a motion of a paw, the ducking of his head and chin, as if to say, come here, get warm, its safe, as if they were old travelling companions.

Where had all this snow come from? Would it ever end?