On padded feet through the thick Fir trees and White Pines. Hot breath meets cold air as white wisp of the Grey wolf's snorts fill the long winter. Softly through snow coverd ground it presses on. With its brothers and sisters they hunt. It's thick coat acting as a shield against the cold and natural camouflage. A lonesome howl comes from a distance as the pack runs forward into the forbidding wilderness and stifling cold. Greeted by a scout, the keen sense of smell tells the pack that their next meal is near. Silently, they patrol the edges of a thicket and lay in wait. As an unsuspecting deer passes too close to the treeline, out come white fangs and tearing jaws. In a momentary fury of fur and crimson, the prey falls to the ground. The restless hunters drag their prey into the safety of the trees, where by a pail moon light, they feast and howl. For the night is short lived, they hurry back to their den, to silently slumber until hunger or restlessness drives the Timber Wolf out to hunt again.