The wind roars through the forest. It doesn't howl; that would be too thin and lonely a noise. No, this wind is massive, broad, deep, multiply voiced, an invisible mob on the move. Tall trees creak, complain, snarl in response.
Above the treetops a crescent moon tries to embrace a single, fat star. Lunar brilliance flares across snowdrifts and untrustworthy ice. Rocks, maple boles, woodstacks cut holes in the brilliance.