Wapun Meadow stress lines and cigarettes

nimbus trailed after her, his steps unhurried yet purposeful, like a shadow slipping through the frost. her question lingered in the air, more a challenge than a genuine invitation—or so it felt to him. his ears flicked back briefly as he considered the weight of her words. a home. he’d thought of it before, sure, but not with the kind of longing that warmed the idea for others. to him, home was something elusive, a fleeting place to rest before the road pulled him onward.

the scent of the injured doe snapped him from his thoughts. he caught her shift in direction, the flick of her tail guiding him silently toward the promise of fresh meat. his gaze remained on her for a moment longer, reading her steady focus, her quiet confidence. she wasn’t wrong to question him. What could a drifter like him offer a pack like hers?

i hunt, he said at last, his voice low and unhurried, like the crunch of his paws against the snow. not much else to do when you don’t stay anywhere long.
 
his eyes scanned the horizon, catching the faint movement of the mule deer in the distance. but a home? he paused, the corners of his mouth twitching faintly, not quite a smile. i didn't think anyone would want me.

still, he followed her lead without protest, the weight of her implication settling in his chest like a distant ache. maybe this was her generosity, a test of sorts, though she didn’t seem the kind to waste effort on something she didn’t think worthwhile. that alone was enough to keep him moving, the scent of the hunt mingling with the unfamiliar pull of something he couldn’t yet name.