Dahozhoni Meadow seaborne

Nimbus watched from a distance, his silver coat blending seamlessly with the dusky shadows of the approaching night. His pale yellow eyes locked onto the lone figure as she scavenged, her movements methodical but weary. He stepped closer, his presence deliberate but unthreatening. The crunch of frost under his paw broke the silence, a subtle announcement of his approach.

You won't find much there, Nimbus said, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of someone who had seen more than his share of empty offerings. His gaze flicked to the carcass she picked over, then back to her. Winter gives little, but it rarely gives freely.