Felltree Marsh Of this philosophy

his first mistake that this place wasn’t the place he should have been came when he put his foot straight through a snowbank and felt ice cold water on the other side. lakhos had pulled his leg right back out, shaking the paw, but the damage was done. he had cold feet—literally—and now one of them was wet.
not that it mattered, because not even fifteen seconds later, all four feet were wet. a few minutes later, that dampness extended to his underbelly and chest as he mistakenly continued to forge his way across a very wrecked landscape. why anyone would keep doing something stupid was lost to him in that moment, but it was also the shortest distance to the next chain of mountains he had seen in a break in the perpetual haze of wintry weather.
even with the bitter wind boxing his ears, he had heard the howling.
not that he particularly cared about it, of course, this was predatory country to a sharp t. there were always bound to be wolves around, just like bears, pissed off birds, cats, coyotes… so on and so forth… he generally didn’t keep track of his competition unless it was staring him down in the face...
which as he ungracefully climbed over a rotting, snow-covered, damp, dank ass tree trunk, happened to be very close. he almost didn’t see her, in fact. she blended in with the winter hellscape, save that shock of granite on the top of her head—he didn’t bother to see if she had more to her or not with the about face he pulled.
to hell with this, maybe going back would be easier since he was leaving an obvious trail anyway. first the stinking grotto, now this rotten mud pit.