Wapun Meadow i have burned & burned

a breath drawn into black, leathery nostrils; myriad of attars skims the breeze like fingers brushing thru argentine pelage. coarse; hefty at nape and shoulders for extant equinox and coming wintersolstice. the morn hours are raw, brisk; invigorating —
carved from seaice and saltstone; a viper’s divergent glower peruses the wildflowers of the wapun meadow.
coteries of lambently multihued chrysanthemum’s crop ‘round the summerblooms suffering their sequence of atrophy. wilting; withering as if caressed by pestilence; drawn into death’s awaiting embrace. avidly, kvasir strides into the thick of the meadow, nosing ‘round for something useful for his dawning harvest.

The weather was cooling down, and taking with it much of the flora that Evien and the Ursus wolves had come to depend on. He'd gathered a decent stock for the impending winter, but always worried it would not be enough to tide them over. Ursus were brutal wolves, and he wouldn't be surprised if they devoured his healing herbs entirely by midwinter.

Evien sighed through his nose as he walked through the wildflowers, wincing ever so slightly at the crunch underfoot that signaled dying vegetation. Dread and worry clawed at his stomach, much as he tried to push them away. Would it be enough...?

Green gaze landed on a white form amongst the colorful meadow. One he was vaguely familiar with, looking through the flowers with as much interest as Evien himself.

Cautious, the medic approached, ears angling forward. "Looking for something?" he questioned, pausing a ways away and tipping his head to the side.