Deepwood Weald Not An Option

the forest provided sanctuary from the onslaught of another blizzarding squall that he didn't want anything to do with. he had delved in deep as soon as the wind picked up and the visibility dropped again, and found that there was resolute protection from the elements therein.
though the trees creaked and groaned and the snow still made its way through, lakhos breathed a heavy sigh of relief. he was so sick of winter. sick of the cold, sick of scavenging constantly, and perhaps most of all, sick of being relentlessly bothered everywhere he went.
but he couldn't complain too much about the latter because at least here the competition for things didn't seem too bad. he hadn't seen hide nor hair of anything that seemed too overtly predatory... yet.
he didn't know that he wasn't alone; the wind teased at his ears as he rummaged about. that soon changed—he heard the thrashing going on, the crunch of ice and snow beneath heavy feet... but he determined it wasn't of too much concern. wasn't a cat, wasn't a bear, sure as hell wasn't man trouncing around looking for something easy.
and he was flighty anyway—it was perhaps the coyote way he knew best even though he embodied parts of one and parts of another. it served his best interest to try and lay low anyway, and so he did.
he minded his own business, not realizing someone else was about to make him theirs.