Explore "The Wolf Pack" by Ridgwell Cullum on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The moon was at its full. Its cold brilliance was a perfect match for the temperature prevailing. It was a clear, bitter night, without a breath of wind out of the western hills sufficient to lift it, however slightly, from the depths below zero into which it had plunged.
The frigid melancholy was broken only by odd nature sounds. They came from afar. They echoed near at hand. There was the rarer boom of frost-bitten forest trees. There was the occasional moan from the hungry bowels of some lonesome creature of the wilderness. There were other sounds, too. Mysterious, unaccountable sounds that only served to express more surely something of life's last hope lost in the cold heart of a merciless winter.