Whitebark Stream i died for beauty

He'd picked up the scent of foreign wolves at the other end of the valley, leading him to veer toward the crisp, coolness of running water in an attempt to avoid detection. Still, he'd skirted the edges of what must be some pack or other's lands, stepping cautiously, but with purpose. 

Corvo was not eager to face the likes of his own kind again anytime soon. They could not be trusted. 

Beyond the valley and into the trees, Corvo moved like a ghost, able to move silently and carefully since he was on his own. He had no certain destination in mind, no real need to get anywhere, and so when he came upon the stream within the towering trees  he decided to rest for a time. The afternoon would pass, lending to an even chillier evening, and come the nightfall, when Corvo was sure his black pelt would hide him from most eyes, he would continue on his way. 

But there was always the problem of his bitter thoughts when he took the time to stop traveling. His mind was plagued with memories both sorrowful and heartwrenching, the emotions quickly turning to anger when Corvo really focused on them. The chill in the air did nothing to cool his temper, and so it was these memories that clouded his senses, luring him into some other world, some other time.

All the while a stranger was approaching, and Corvo had not noticed...