Otatso Wetlands Without the night.

He raked over a patch of soft ground, considering making for the distant tree line. They were in the open here — and if he was to avoid the brunt of the storm, they needed shelter. 

As the snow moved in visibility became poor. Using his nose, Anselm followed the scent of water, knowing water tended to percolate at low ground, which invariably came with swales and knolls. 

Rather than come across a cave, he came across fresh steps in the rapidly replenishing snow. Sniffing at the pawprints edges, Anselm couldn’t help the way his ears jerked forward in surprise. Before he knew it, his head lifted into the air in a short howl meant to broadcast his location. 

But why did he do that? His heart — suddenly mindless before — began to beat rapidly in his chest, drowning out all sounds of the storm.