Kildeer Rest propaganda you should fall for

she is swift, burning, upon silvered legs.

the field is soft and open, full of tiny heartbeats buried in their safe little holes, and she passes through them without hunger, without hurry, just a quiet wanderer letting the land wash around her.

as a hare bursts out ahead, bouncing above soft snow fall, ravah only flicks an ear, drifting pass with little interest. her belly is full, and she has never been in the habit of hunting game unless needed.

only when needed.

the wind tugs at her fur in small, wandering pulls, carrying the clean scent of snow melt and cedar, a twinge of lavender. her eyes stay half-lidded, watchful but unburdened, tracing the long sweep of grass ahead where the land rolls gentle and pale.

she does not know where she goes. only that the future calls to her in the shape of birdsong and lulling hushes.