Felltree Marsh Duck Hunt

In the half mist of the snowfall a figure materialized in his sight, solidifying until he could make out her — it had to be, right? — shape and species. A small lupine. He grinned, slow and sweet and entirely untrustworthy despite its masking. He was glad that he found her. He didn't know how long he would have wandered here before coming across someone else. While his stomach was relatively full it was more than hunger that drove him to feast on wolf blood.

What are you doing, dear? He coos to her, slowing his approach as he locked onto her form. He'd seen this tactic before. Another little man had done the same in a vain attempt to dissuade his approach. Didn't they know that just made them a sweeter target? Don't hide from me.