No Poetry but the Stars

The night’s tranquility was broken by a sharp call. Asmul’s ears jerked forward and he leaped to his feet, heart pounding, hackles raised. He turned away from the water and there, blurred by the tears he now blinked away, was a figure. The figure was canine and looked like a dark apparition silhouetted against the stark white snow.
Asmul took a couple breaths, attempting to calm his racing heart. Who was out this late at night? He hadn’t expected to see anyone at this hour, at this place.
“Hello,” he called back. Squinting, he tried to get a better look at the stranger as they approached. They were tan in coloration, that much he could tell, and they seemed rather tall and lean, in stark contrast to his own bulk. And most notably of all, they walked with a sort of lurch.
Thoughts of ghouls and apparitions permeated Asmul’s thoughts, which he tried to shake off. He didn’t consider himself superstitious. He was a practical guy. Perhaps this wolf was injured or something. Then again, an injured wolf likely wouldn’t offer such a cheery hello. He should ask. ”Are you hurt?” Asmul added, taking a few steps closer to the stranger.