A fingernail slip of moon rode high in the western sky, lining the distant jagged edge of the White Mountains with faint silver. Dusty stars sprinkled the sky like powder on blue velvet as a brisk wind shifted across the land from the north, bringing with it the promise of approaching winter. Within the silent shadows of the woods that bounded Josh O’Connell’s seventy-five-acre farm, a large shadow moved with surprisingly fluid ease along a hidden forest trail. It made almost no sound other than a near constant sniffing as it tested the wind. The creature stealthily approached the edge of the forest and looked out across the open field toward O’Connell’s barn and farmhouse. Faint moonlight edged everything with silvery lines which, to the creature’s light-sensitive eyes, fairly vibrated with purple energy. The creature cringed back into the brush as it stared across the wide expanse of open ground. Having lived its entire life high up on the bare, rocky slopes of the mountains to the north, it was not afraid of open spaces.
