King Elk Forest a bad moon risin'

There was a gap in the trees but beyond it, in the exposed grass and lingering mist, he could almost make out a shape. Ambrose crept among the trees but he paused to observe. Maybe this was one of those elusive elk—and he had to wonder why it would be so difficult to track them, considering their size and appetite. The man squinted through the mist. If he'd found an elk, it wasn't there now—the mist shifted, and instead of some sort of ungulate he spied a reaching segment of old wood; some sort of tree that had broken away and had become obscured by the weather.

He was about to press on, striding a step or two, when a sharp sound erupted behind him. It was faint which suggested some distance. But it was also a familiar pitch, one that made his ears tremble; it sounded like someone was behind him. He sniffed and turned, squaring off to where Bat was roaming and he waited for the mist to drift a little, then called out: Hello?