Swiftcurrent Creek moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars

Beyond the meadow there was a creek that had taken ice to its edges, but moved, nonetheless. The dark sphinx moved toward it tentatively; his lean frame was light, but he feared that he might break the ice away and fall into the waters. In the chilling winter weather, Trench knew that it would surely spell his defeat. Feeling the sturdiness of the structure beneath his weight, the ranger bent his neck and lapped at the cold water for several long seconds. The back of his throat was grateful for the relief and his parched mouth no longer felt like it was full of wool. From there, Trench turned his gaze toward his surroundings and drank in the scent of the nearby area.
 
There was a pack, not far from where he was, that seemed to bustle with life. Wondering if any of his family had made it to this point, Trench aimed himself in the direction of wood and followed the stream that would lead him there. The premise of thick trees and the comfort of those sturdy boughs would likely provide relief from the worst of the winter weather. He hoped that he could seek solace there for a time, at least until he had discovered where he wanted to move next. Diaspora had been almost empty when he had arrived back on the doorstep of the pack. His search for leadership had turned up nothing. That meant it was time to move on.