Full Moon Forty Acres Deep

When I walked outside to close things up last night the air was subzero still, the moon was bright even through clouds, this view the source of this scene:

Beneath the brightness of the moon, he followed them, wading until he hit the trough of their common tracks. The light was such that he could see the general shape of things, although in a color-blind way. The trail led through scrub and brush and into a pine copse so thick very little snow had fallen through to the understory, leaving instead a blanket of shed needles. He knew the deer had yarded here before. After a tough winter you could hardly see the needles for all the poop marbles. He knelt, and between the trunks he could see them all around him, silent and still save for the puffs of blued fog out their nostrils. Now and then one would flick an ear or stomp a forefoot, still spooked but loath to leave this sheltering space.

— From the novella Forty Acres Deep