Bitterroot Valley ✢ clockwork

the valley was quiet beneath morning fog, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and thawing earth. sega moved through it like a shadow come to life, his pale coat streaked with the dark of old hunts and fresh dew. golden eyes cut through the mist, scanning the slopes where elk trails crossed and the river curved slow beneath the cliffs.
he had risen before dawn, when the frost still clung to the grass and the sky was the color of cold iron. @Elowyn’s scent had faded near the birch line days ago— faint, wind-scattered, too light for his liking. she was wanderer, yes, but the silence of her absence itched in his chest.
his broad paws pressed into the mud as he followed the current, nose lifting to taste the wind. the call of a jay startled through the fog; he paused, listening, waiting.

looking for elowyn!