Dawnlark Plains ⋆ Wāpēkwa

the air was sharp, biting down into her lungs with every inhale. siamiituuq welcomed it.
her paws pressed into the hardened snow, each step a reminder of the season’s grip, the way the land held firm against the weight of time. the plains stretched before her, vast and pale, broken only by the distant dark spines of trees that clung to the horizon. the wind carried nothing but the scent of ice and old tracks—elk, days old, not worth the chase.
her ears flicked, listening to the silence. not stillness, no—winter had its own voice, speaking in the way the frost settled and the wind curled against her fur. she breathed it in, slow, tasting the cold against her tongue.
this was a land of survivors!
she exhaled.

AW