Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. After a few weeks of relentless wandering, Rigel had now found himself cloaked in darkness, shaded beneath a canopy of densely packed trees, the ground choked with vegetation. Now, he shambled along, what little confidence he had left escaping through the pads of his paws to join the milky white curtain of fog swirling among his legs. Half sick with terror and weariness, every little whisper of the trees or sharp, lilting cry of a bird sent him cowering in the opposite direction. Within mere minutes of arriving he was loping awkwardly through the thicket, fleeing from his own shadow, his backside seemingly hellbent on leading the retreat. His mind, driven weak and weary from travel, processed each frantic puff of his breath as the rhythmic footfalls from some unnaturally large creature in pursuit, the brush of grass against his heels as the hot breath of his old pack, cackling as they drove him off the edge of a ragged cliff-

   A sudden pressure applied to his forepaw choked out a strangled yelp from the young wolf's throat as he pitched forward, somersaulting through the fog before coming to rest with his chest pressed against the ground, his tail waving softly in the air above his head. Dazed and disoriented from his unexpected gymnastics route, Rigel slowly rose to his paws, glancing over his paws just in time to spot the root he tripped on, previously hidden from view by the fog. Bruised and ashamed of his nervous breakdown, he continued to slowly pick his way through the forest before squeezing into an indent in the otherwise level terrain, nestled in between the thick roots of a Douglas fir. With the fog that had wrapped itself around his mind now clear, his pounding heart eventually settled and his breath came out in long, slow drawls rather than frantic gasps. Fatigue engulfed him like a wave, though he refused to close his eyes. Sheltered beneath the roots of the tree, shrouded in ghostly fog, Rigel finally allowed himself a moment's rest, waiting, watching.