The white wolf stood like a statue, all but invisible, watching her trudge through the deep snow towards the cabin, going carefully, taking her time. He could move silently, especially in snow, and move silently he did, stopping just outside a break in the low stone wall itself already half-buried by powder.
He did not notice the runes painted onto the wall, and he would not have known how to read them if he had; but suddenly he had no desire to go further, starving though he was. The emptiness in his gut mocked him as she disappeared from view.
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