Where is she going? Why the secrecy?

Another thing. In the lines where you talk about there not being a huntsman's cabin, or a hermit, etc., it seems too passive. I would make the verbs a little stronger, give the scene legs.
For example, instead of "No huntsman’s cabin was nestled nearby. No hermit’s cave was hidden on the mountain." I would say, "There were no huntsman's cabins nearby; no hermit's caves hidden away on the mountain."
Watch the passive voice, it can dull a reader right out of the chair.
But the concept sounds promising. It offers up questions, and in a good setting, people will read on to find the answers.

"No huntsman’s cabin nestled nearby. No hermit’s cave hid beneath the mountain."

In any case, the point about eliminating passive voice, where possible, is a good one. "she was heading for it" could change to "she headed for it" with no trouble.

The impressions that I get from the narrative are: Angeline has reason to be cautious; she is familiar with the forest since she knows that there is nothing else around; she is frightened. I do not necessarily think that she is frightened because the forest is haunted. In fact, since the mention of "haunted" comes fairly late, I'm inclined to think that it something else she's afraid of. I thought it was already snowing till I got to paragraph two. I wonder if you could move some of that description earlier. The picture that I built in my head was of a dark forest with snow on the ground and no leaves. Also, the first sentance of the second paragraph is a really interesting hook. I mean, golly, if you started with "For a haunted wood, the forest was bright with fall sunshine. Angeline walked through the trees alone." I'd be hooked and ready to be reeled the rest of the way in. Totally your call, but I love the out-of-the-ordinary thing that you have with a brightly lit haunted forest. Girls walking alone in the woods are a dime a dozen. Heck. I did that when I was growing up.

Now back to your story. As a reader I'm wondering who she thinks would be chasing her.

I'm curious why she thought about whistling when it seems as if she's trying to be quiet. Why was it an impulse?

quote:

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Angeline walked through the woods alone. ((Ho-hum.)) The forest was ancient and far from any town or village. No huntsman’s cabin was nestled nearby. No hermit’s cave was hidden on the mountain. ((I could do without the previous two sentences altogether, even considering the group's emendations.)) Few lived even a little ways into this wood, much less so far up into it. (("A little ways" is colloquial English, which jars with the elevated style of the rest.)) Soon, the snow would be falling ((Despite the fact that it's sunny? Odd.)) and the stillness that surrounded her would deepen until even the lowliest creature did not fog the air with breath. ((I see chipmunks chattering to one another, "Dude! I can totally see my breath. It's wicked cold out here!" Seriously though, I find this sort of "high" (florid, grandiloquent, fussy) narrative style tiresome. I want stories to say important things, not say things importantly. This is just a matter of personal taste, so don't mind me.)) Angeline knew of only one shelter nearby and she was heading for it, as unobtrusively ((It's the middle of a forest; every move is unobtrusive, since there's nobody around to obtrude upon. Unless she's not alone, of course. Still, "unobtrusive" evokes for me a sense of propriety, not fear or anxiety.)) as she could. The stillness seemed to grow even deeper and she found herself -- with no obvious signal -- pausing every few steps to listen for a pursuer.

"I’m being a silly wretch." She mumbled out loud to herself. The sound of her own voice was so loud to her, she winced. ((Ditto redundant comments about redundancy.)) So much for drumming up courage. Whistling was out of the question. ((Is this a subconscious reference to "The King and I"?!))

For a haunted wood, however, the forest was bright with fall sunshine. ((MaryR is right. That's your hook. A sunny haunted forest is "man bites dog.")) Everywhere the colors had changed to brilliant orange and scarlet red – dashed only here and there with the stubborn evergreens. Yellow and orange leaves piled and stacked and drifted at the base of trees not yet entirely bare. ((I get it. It's a forest. It's fall. Lots of colors. Unless the trees are unusual or significant -- and they don't seem to be here -- just say "forest" and leave the rest to the reader's imagination.)) For Angeline, it meant every catlike ((meow!)) step snapped a hidden twig and seemed to echo up and down the trees around her. ((Actually, snowbound forests tend to dampen sound considerably. Then again, it only "seemed" to echo ...))

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I'm actually a fan of soft, gradual openings, but this is too soft for my taste. Dramatic tension doesn't always have to mean DRAMATIC TENSION!!!, if you know what I mean, but there has to be some reason to keep going. The first few lines of a work of fiction can reach out and grab you by the collar, or they can gently lead you into a cozy hobbit-hole. Either way, the point is to get the reader hooked. They can be hooked by the action ("Hey, this sounds exciting!"), the character ("So-and-so seems interesting."), a sense of mystery ("I don't know what's going on, but I aim to find out!"), the concept ("A polygonal protagonist in a two-dimensional universe? I'm there!"), or the sound of the authorial/narrative voice ("Author X sure has a way with words"). Or any of the above. What we have here is: action that may or may not be imminent or may never happen but at least we're sure it hasn't happened yet (if it's going to happen at all); a character who is more confusing than intriguing; a nicely drawn picture of a forest that could have been evoked with a few words rather than so painstakingly constructed; a formulaic concept; and an overwrought narrative voice that spends most of its words on the scenery.

PS -- "was heading" is an imperfect verb phrase, where others have argued for a perfect form, "headed". The difference is whether or not the action is complete: "was heading," imperfect, action underway, not finished; "headed," perfect, action is past, a complete act. Most of the other verbs in this sample are in simple (perfect) past tense: walked, lived, seemed, etc. An imperfect verb form (notionally) moves the time reference of the action into the present: If the action is not complete, it seems to be in progress. Imperfect verbs are useful for bringing the action of a past tense story into a sort of virtual present tense: It isn't happening now, but it was happening then. It transports the reader to the timeframe of the story without shifting into the present tense, which would certainly be upsetting. I think it's wrong to regard all "-ing" verbs as suspect because they are somehow inherently inferior, or because they indicate an unfashionable style. (Besides, "-ing" grammaticalizes several different things in English.) Rather, using an imperfect past tense verb phrase creates a mental shift in the reader's time reference relative to the action. Time reference is just like point of view: It should shift only whenever it needs to. If these time reference shifts are sloppy, then I can see how they would be annoying. It's not particularly annoying here, IMO.

Echo the thoughts about the twig snapping. For one thing you now have a layer of mouldy leaves (not twigs) and snow. The sound would definitely be damnpened, not sharp.