The squirrel was small and light of foot; it didn't disturb the layers of caked on slow in the slightest, not even when it dug its heels in to an abrupt halt midway. A bird- a small one, a robin perhaps, though the wolf couldn't quite tell purely from the small fluttery silhouette. He couldn't hear the whispered conversation shared between the two, so high above and with the rustling in the wind carrying their words off through the trees, but he watched them closely. He took note of the squirrel's quick glances to either side, he noted the bird's restless hopping and fidgeting of its wings. The meeting was the work of a few moments.
When both parties had gone their separate ways, Maugrim grunted lowly and pulled himself to his feet. A slow, heavy shake disloged some of the snow from his fur, and he set off at a low slung trot through the forest. His life was a good one.