Luneshale Pass vibe control

another drab, cheerless morning. 

soto mulls over the missing faces of haruto and bushtit; the former causes little worry, but the latter strings along a unpleasant tap in his gut. 

when did he get sentimental?

his attention shifts from inner reflection as his morning ritual brings him to the borders, where a man’s form bends to sniff at something invisible. 

at first glance soto thinks this man is legless; as he pulls closer he sees each limb shares its color with the snow. 

head low, soto fixes him with his gaze and makes himself known by the loud scrape of a paw upon ground as he approaches.