Wapun Meadow stress lines and cigarettes

nimbus listened to her words, her steady voice carried on the chilled air as they moved. why do you not stay? the question struck him harder than he cared to admit. it wasn’t one he often answered, and certainly not one he expected from her. it felt too deliberate, like she was poking at something fragile, though her tone held no malice.

when losing something special, no place ever feels like home he muttered, his voice gravelly and subdued. it wasn’t the full story, but it was as much as he was willing to share. he wasn’t sure she’d want the details—the running, the losing, the feeling of never belonging anywhere for long. 

he caught her shift, her pace quickening as the mule deer came into view. his own strides lengthened, powerful and deliberate, but without the same fluid grace she carried. her movements were like water cutting through ice, smooth and sure, while his were more like a slow-building avalanche—inevitable, but lacking elegance. 

her words about the valley stuck with him as they ran. bearclaw valley will take you... if you can get your maw bloody. he almost smirked at that. getting bloody’s never been the problem, he rumbled, his eyes narrowing on the weary buck ahead. staying clean—that’s the hard part.

nimbus hung back slightly, watching her with a faint curiosity as she surged forward. this was her domain, her hunt, and he wasn’t here to take it from her. if anything, he was waiting—watching to see how she moved, how she worked. he wasn’t sure what it was about her that kept him here, but he was beginning to think it had less to do with the valley and more to do with her. 

for now, though, the hunt demanded his attention, and he readied himself to act when the moment called for it.