Character sketch for a cold night

A sliver of moon ghosts through drifts of luminous cloud. The air is crisp, with the promise of frost by morning; the dog's breath visible with each exhalation.  She feels the cold on her nose and the tips of her ears as the two of them stand in the dark, listening. Nothing can move quietly through the carpet of brittle leaves beneath the trees, but what is coming does not move by measured tread. She draws a slow breath and the dog moves forward. Not yet, she thinks. But neither the dog's companionship nor the weight of the great sword on her back offer much assurance against the endless black reaches of the night sky.