Wapun Meadow gilded lily

Tvar stood still for a moment, his breath curling in soft plumes as he watched the snowfall drift lazily to the frozen earth. The silence of the meadow pressed against his ears, but it wasn’t comforting—it was hollow, a quiet that amplified the storm within him. His mind, unbidden, churned back to her. Always her.

Gjalla.

She had left. Or perhaps he had let her go—he wasn’t sure anymore.

Not that he had a choice.

His claws flexed against the frozen ground, the soft crunch of ice breaking beneath them grounding him in the present. There was no point dwelling on it. He wasn’t the kind to wallow. He was a wolf of action, of forward momentum, and yet…

And yet.

As his heavy paws carried him forward, his mind still lingered in places it shouldn’t, on wolves he should have left behind.