crossing a bridge

The massive brute padded along the sands at a leisurely pace, leaving large prints behind. These days he was thankful for the heavy winter coat he carried and the dark hues that soaked in what little sun could be found during such a dreary winter. Over the past season he’d kept to himself, after coming down with a cold he never thought would leave him. Once he’d recovered enough he’d set his sights south. Even if he didn’t find refuge perhaps he’d find warmth that couldn’t be found in the Northern continent.

With his illness he’d laid low, usually enjoying the center of attention he hadn’t wanted anyone peeking his runny nose. Having shed that unglamorous symptom he felt himself fit to return to society. Or something like that. The cold had an unnerving ability to renew the desire for contant. He wanted to feel the warmth and attention of another wolf.

Noir had to shake the cold thoughts from his head as he was reminded of the lonesome beach he’d forced himself on. The wind was harsh and pushed against him in its flurry of gusts. Sand and snow threatened to blind him if he didn’t shut his eyes quick enough. And yet he still wore an amused smirk, as though defiant to even mother nature herself. He’d enjoy his stroll on the beach icy winds or not.