Blood in the branches

Crescendo moved silently through the trees, a feat for such a giant wolf. His handsome black fur seemed to ripple as he sprang over the stream, his muscles coiling and uncoiling. A fact he was quite pleased with. His pelt was more then just pretty, it scared away smaller wolves, and let him slip through the shadows unnoticed, unseen.

So absorbed in his thoughts he was, he did not notice the blood...almost. He sat on his haunches, and peered at the crimson. Strange, for it looked fresh, and it was covering the tree and dripping down...but there were no scents except for his own and the blood. Suddenly, the knolls in the tree shifted and formed two silver eyes, a broad handsome muzzle and-

He blinked his eyes, and the blood vanished. The sounds of the forest were back, and Crescendo snorted. It had been nothing.