Hushed Willows [m] Every song that I've ever loved

nimbus moved through the whispering willows like a ghost, his pale coat blending into the muted palette of winter. the breeze stirred the long branches above him, their hushed song pulling at the frayed edges of his thoughts. he stopped at the crest of a gentle slope, his gaze drawn to the valley below. the willows swayed in unison, their shadows long and sharp against the frost-bitten ground. 

he had been here before, in another time, or perhaps in a dream. the place felt like a memory made manifest, something familiar and yet just out of reach. it gnawed at him, the sensation of recognition, like the faint trace of a scent he couldn’t place. 

the sharp sound of a branch snapping underfoot pulled him from his reverie. his head turned, ears flicking toward the source of the noise. for a moment, he thought it was the wind playing tricks again, but then he saw her.

he remained where he was, standing amidst the willows, watching her approach. she carried an air of solitude that mirrored his own, and something about that stung more deeply than he cared to admit. the breeze ruffled his fur, and he exhaled sharply, as if trying to expel the weight of thoughts he didn’t want to entertain. 

when she neared, he said nothing at first. the stillness stretched between them, his pale yellow eyes unreadable but intent. then, in a voice as low and rough as the distant waves, he spoke, didn’t think anyone would come down this way.