Wapun Meadow stress lines and cigarettes

@Rala since the other thread seems to have stalled at the moment

snow blanketed the expanse, softening the contours of the land and muting the once-bright hues into endless shades of white and gray. the creek at the heart of the meadow was barely visible beneath a thin shell of ice, its quiet murmur subdued, like a voice lost in the stillness.  

nimbus moved through the snow, his steps deliberate yet without urgency, the frost crunching softly beneath his paws. he paused near the edge of the cottonwoods, their blackened trunks standing stark against the winter sky. the wind here whispered through the brittle branches, a sound both familiar and distant, as if the meadow itself were speaking in a language only the lonely could hear.  

his breath hung in the cold air, curling upward before vanishing. he stared out across the frozen meadow, eyes lingering on the horizon where the first faint blush of dawn threatened to break through the lingering night. it was beautiful in a quiet, solemn way, but it failed to stir him. nothing had, not in the months since he'd last felt warmth that wasn’t his own body heat.  

the solitude didn’t bother him; it rarely did. but as he stood there, surrounded by the weight of the season, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a ghost haunting a place meant for the living. the meadow, even in its winter dormancy, seemed to demand something of him—something he didn’t have.  

he lowered himself to his haunches, the cold seeping through his fur as he let his gaze wander. maybe the spring would bring more than flowers. or maybe it wouldn’t. for now, the meadow was silent, and so was he.