Haunted Wood This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off

The sun had not yet stretched above the rocky peaks of the mountains.
 
The world was blanketed in an eerie fog that rolled through the woods in a lazy, unhurried way. From the palest corners of that haze lurked a ravenous hunter. The willowed frame moved with just as much urgency as the fog. Each bob of his skull brought new scents that lingered on the xenomorph’s tongue. There were wolves there and judging by the smell of them… there were many to be found.
 
Nostromo was breathless by the time he was in the heart of the wood. The chill of autumn had already changed the leaves to a shade of burning yellow and red. The forest floor was painted in colors of the very same. When the xenomorph paused near a den site, fragrances of fox and badger hovered near the entrance. He drank in this until his mouth watered and continued to prowl.