Blackfoot Forest i'd rather drowned in misery than gone to new south wales

he was not alone in the meadow, though the chilling wind concealed duskhall's scent for some time. he nosed the powdery snow, snuffing out the half-hidden scent of a rabbit warren under feet of frozen earth.

he would be unlikely to rouse them from their safety in the dirt, and rather than waste what little energy he had in such a difficult endeavor he swung towards the small stream he had scouted along the day before.

it was then the wind shifted and the male picked up the scent of another interloper. he slowed his gait and raised his head, appraising the wind for any signs of more company. none came -- it was then he saw a dark figure moving along the snow towards the stream. 

venextos did not approach, though the wolf made a noise by way of acknowledgement. he carefully picked his way down to the bank and kept his distance, lowering his muzzle to the water with steady laps of his tongue. while he drank he kept his gaze fixed on the wolf, who even from a distance cut an imposing and almost malicious figure.