The woods are cold and deep. Old snow lingers in the tree shadows, untouched by winter's watery sun.
They slog through the half frozen mud, the bite of winter air stinging their cheeks and eyes
Leaning one handed against each pine a deep breath reveals the trail of musk marking the territory of the male dog,
It's a big sucker for sure. Even with only a weak all too human nose the trail beckons from tree to tree.
"Mind your back, Dean." Sam yells from his parallel course, too late.
Whirling Dean shoots as the stinking hound leaps.