Winter Solstice RE:
The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong... The trees and forests of Relic Lore provide decent protection from the winds but still allow the snows to filter through and chill it to its roots. When the sun sets and the frost makes the trees creak, what unimaginable dangers have come under the cloak of night?
I caught a glimpse now it haunts me
Midnight — Light snow — -11° F/-24° C — Spoopy music
Outside the wind groaned, a deep and hollow noise that encompassed the entire forest. Snowflakes, small and delicate, each a pinprick of frost drifted down through the sky. Some wayward flakes even made it past the high opening to the den, falling at Skana's gnarled paws. It was hard to see them, her vision dull and the dark night long with dawn and dusk far on either side, but she could feel the cold seeping into the den none-the-less. Skana often took the opportunity to fill the long, nearly unending nights with sleep, which usually came far too easy to her. But there was a charge to the air that had her hairs standing on end, a foul tone to the wind's groaning that didn't settle right with her, and so she sat awake, staring nearly sightless into the pitch dark of the deepest of midnights.
Skana told herself that it was just the storm, a feat of the weather, and nothing to be worked up over especially since there was nothing anyone could do about it short of the pack sprouting wings and flying south. Even telling herself this though, the unnerving feeling, the sense of being watched wouldn't dissipate. With a huff she slowly stood and took tentative steps into the ankle high, then knee high, then chest high drifts of snow. It was slow work, and it hurt her to do so with cold seeping into her sore joints and old bones, but she just had to know what was out there.
Despite the darkness she could more or less tell where she was. The tangy, familiar scent of willow bark, which often lingered on her own breath, still surrounded her, and she could still smell the signs of her packmates. None of the prey animals could be scented, but she had known they were either long gone or wisely holed up for winter.
She waited a few minutes in place, before deciding she had been worried over nothing and turned back to return to the den. A branch somewhere in the wood snapped with a loud crack that set Skana's hair on end, and suddenly the howling of the wind stopped, leaving only dead silence behind. The old wolf whirled about, peering uselessly into the dark with lips pulled back over her teeth in a thread no one could see. "Who's there!" She demanded.