Fairspell Meadow bleak midwinter

the sweet scent of fermenting berries draws sullivan's attention towards the meadow. it brings with it a twist of nostalgia; an almost.

almost a memory.

an almost that felt like too many lifetimes ago.

he weaves thru the tall grasses, subconciously chasing the peek of the sun thru the clouds; bicolored gaze sweeping his path as he moves, the chill of the air a reminder that the snowseason would soon be upon these lands and of his plans: to find a place to ride out winter before it took hold of the wilds.