Qeya River danse macabre

The wolf came creeping with the winter; his steps were quick and choppy as he pushed through the deep-set snow, only growing long and fluid when the snow thinned out and allowed for more movement. There was a density to the cloud-cover overhead that could've indicated an oncoming snowfall, but he was not looking skyward, the wolf was looking dead ahead. His slinking steps came to a halt as he neared a snowcapped ridge. From here, he could watch his surroundings. A mist was rolling in from the north, as if chasing the pale figure; if you looked at it just so it seemed to glimmer as the temperature began to drop—but the wolf was oblivious to this too. He was watching the dark silhouettes in the distance. A herd of some kind - elk, perhaps mule deer - which he had been chasing for a few days now. He paused for only a few moments before lowering his head to the soil and inspecting the cropped grass—then, he was on his way again.