Golden Glade mourn the wicked

@Ātoztli he comes from the motherland :o

the glade was silent under a heavy blanket of snow, the bare trees stretching toward a gray sky. cozamalotl moved carefully, his paws crunching softly in the frost, his breath forming faint clouds in the frigid air. he had been walking for hours, the cold biting into his fur, but the stillness of winter soothed him in a way nothing else could.  

but here, away from the past, the world asked nothing of him. the snow covered all tracks, all boundaries, leaving only a quiet, endless expanse.

the wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of pine and the promise of another storm. cozamalotl glanced toward the horizon, where the first flakes began to fall again, soft and relentless. alone as he was, the solitude didn’t feel so heavy. but he heeded her call, following the route she had described to her claim. mictēcacihuātl was merciful in granting salvation so he would not waste such opportunity.