Wapun Meadow Still getting old, space is still getting cold, space is

Frost fell over the valley, and with it the wraith returned to the land of his birth. This place which had once been his, now all but a stranger to him. None of the scents threaded through the meadow were familiar; none of the packs he passed by seemed the same. It had all changed, all of it, as he'd always known it would. He felt the sting of it deeply.

Zephyr settled among the frost to gnaw at the skinny hare in his jaws, the blood still warm enough to throw steam into the cold air. He watched the horizon. He watched the valley beyond. It was busy around here these days, he'd gathered that much. But it was no longer the place he'd once known.