Blacktail Deer Plateau disasterpiece

the ghost drifts.
from one land to the next. and in this one, he’s found himself no short of toys to entertain him.
but it is one that catches his eye the most. curled up against a rock, brown pelt a smear; sides lifting. still alive.
a smug look is fixed on the ghost’s face for a moment—and he swaggers up, fangs protruding beneath a dark lip. stopping above the ratty body, and planting a swat to the gut with a thick paw.
a grizzled exhale:
wake the fuck up, samurai.