The Bracken Woods death is on the wind

The forest was heavily blanketed in snow on this frigid winter morning. Ice coated the trees...every branch, every needle. The pale golden sunlight filtered through the thickly settled spruces standing tall in their natural grandeure. It was rather silent, the snow had a way of making everything quiet as if smothering the world beneath its weight. The farther south he traveled, the less harsh the terrain became. This place was lush compared to the arctic cold further north from whence the black male came. This morning he found himself atop a large rocky formation covered in green lichen. The brute was wrapped into a rather tight ball to conserve his body heat, ebon fur softly coated with some light snow. The only notable thing in the shadowy mass was a pair of glowing orange eyes glaring out from his dark face. Saul could not have looked more displeased if he tried.

The lone wolf had been wandering south for quite a while now on his own. Constantly battling against the furious weather and harsh elements was exhausting. Doing it on his own was quite the task, nevermind trying to take down enough prey to sustain himself on this voyage. It had been a very tough trip, there was no doubt about it. But it seemed to be coming to an end. Saul had been up the night before watching from his perch as the storm rolled in. He could smell all the other wolves on the wind, their scent telling him their stories. He had found a new population of wolves. Little did they know this could be a very dangerous development for them in whatever pathetic little lives they had been living out here. He wondered if they could smell him too....would they know that was death they were smelling?