Lumbering, he exhales loudly,
his breath a misty white
in the thick winter chill.
He makes thick, cumbersome
steps in the deep snow
as it cakes his fur and
slowly melts in his warmth.
Jostling, he shakes his fur vigorously,
snow flying this way and that,
then tumbling to the ground.
He trudges onward, head down and
eyes scanning the blank canvas
that was once the forest.
Sniffing, his black nose twitches slightly,
and he looks to the left, the right.
His ears perk and his pace quickens
ever-so-slightly, as to not disturb the winter still.
Snow falls all around him, covering his
heavy tracks through the wood.
Suddenly, he sees it, covered in fresh new snow.
the sickly-sweet aroma of carrion tickles his nose.
He doesn’t know what it is or how it got there,
but he could care less.
He will survive.
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