Honeyed Pasture trek along?

The golden stretch of grass was something to behold, even in winter's grasp, which squeezed so tightly the fronds into the earth; yet little yellow bridges still fought through it, here and there. It was like something out of a childhood, a rolling field of snow and softness to run through, to feel the bite of cold and the foolhardiness of life.

He had walked a while, only pausing as the dusk settled on the meadow like a whisper. He sat, sighing out a frosty breath. Galen shook his head, knocking flecks of snow free of his snout and head. He didn't know where he was going exactly, almost following the sun on his back - searching.

His stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since morning, and there were no streams around for him to fish from; as far as the eye could see. He snorted to himself, he didn't have the best chances anyway. He could see dark shapes far ahead, snow and lowlight glinting off their backs too. A pair of mule deer, maybe.