Horizon Ridge i: the other half.

For a still day, the air simply didn't move. The stillness seemed to suck even the sounds between the trees into nothingness. The rainfall was all there was: a whispering like static on a television coming in and out of focus. It was the kind of silence that descends right before you get a knife in the back; but the wolf is staring at the trees, and the cliff at his back leads to nothingness too, leads to void.
A gust pushes impetuously against the sentinel trees finally, like a breath exhaled between grave stones. Something shifts along the graze-line in the wolf's periphery, perhaps only a weak branch snapping in the wind. A scent billows from among the trees—metallic almost, acrid and burning.

Wolf.

it says, crackling like low embers in a fire; deep and thick like smoke. It would be hard to say from which direction it flowed, as it seemed to stem from everywhere.

The darkness shifts, condenses, and as the rainlight catches in the beast's infernal gaze it is inescapably clear how close she looms, until that first defiant lunge of her stride which despells the silence. The earth shakes, the trees tremble, and she is heading straight in to him.