Wapun Meadow Across Dimming Asterisms

aw!

Dawn spilled across the meadow like liquid gold, brushing the wildflowers in soft hues of rose and honey. Petals trembled beneath the weight of dew, scenting the breeze with something sweet and heady; something almost too delicate for this world.
The golden mistress stood at the edge of it all, where the cool shadows of the black cottonwoods kissed the field. She was still, poised as a sculpture shaped by time and wind, her tawny fur touched by the first breath of sun. Golden eyes drifted over the sea of color, unhurried, unreadable. She moved eventually; slow, deliberate, each step whispering through the grass as if she feared disturbing the serenity around her. A pronghorn flicked its ear in the distance, alert but not startled. Shiruyeh paid it little mind. She was not hunting, not today; no, today was for silence, for thought.
Near the heart of the meadow, the creek murmured its quiet song, and she paused beside it, lowering her head to sip. The water was cool, clear, sweet; enough to bring a sigh from her lips.
She lingered, one paw trailing through the shallows. Perhaps she was waiting; perhaps she was not. But in the hush of early morning, with sunlight climbing over the blooms and breeze playing through her fur, she looked like a mirage given shape. A secret held by the meadow itself.