Swiftcurrent Creek This ain't nothin' new to me

Grey skies nabbed the sunlight and kept the daylight dim, though against the stark white of the snow, it was a blessing. Moss often found direct sunlight a bit too bright when it reflected off the snow, and suffered from infrequent headaches. The cloud cover gave her a respite from the brightness, and allowed her to patrol the borders as she usually did- head low, pace slow. 

She hovered her muzzle above the ground, detecting scents as she went, adding her own in the places where other scents grew faint. It was the same day in and day out- rove, wander, mark- but she thrived in the monotony.