Wapun Meadow redemption has freed the burden from me

mahler hadn't paid attention to the land he'd entered — he had been rather caught up in the springtime twittering of robins. and while snow still blanketed the land, while the gusts were harsh and cold, the musiker knew that warmer climes were not far off. still, his sigh was audible as he heard the crunch of packed white beneath his broad toes.
wolves, their scents crowded together and thick as summertime wildflowers. and just as cloying, mahler added to himself in a tongue no one bothered to speak aloud anymore, least of all him. the cold lavender of his eyes sought movement in a small frame; a firebrand of a yearling nosing along the frozen earth. boredom dragged at the man; he paused in his aimless pursuit of spring harbingers to watch the stranger, ears slowly cupping forward with a derisive sort of curiosity.