Overture Downs soft light

This, too, was like something out of one of the old songs. Journey had never seen anything quite so large as a bison, and especially not quite so large as a whole herd of them.

It was a fine, misty morning. The grey fingers of dawn were just beginning to reach across the land, so that everything was silver under that pearlescent layer of fog. The bison looked more like ancient earth spirits than animals, their thick pelts sparkling with dew and silhouettes made blurry and ethereal by the inclimate weather. Their scent was heat and strength and spore, heady on the earth beneath her paws.

She remained crouched, enraptured in the shadow of a fallen tree, watching them from a distance. One of them seemed to sense her gaze and gave an almighty bellow; but when no danger came rushing out at them, they seemed content to go about their business.