He used a tawny-topped paw to brush away snow, until the imperfect mirror below was revealed. It reflected smudges of honey and clay, and occasionally the glint of his eyes would appear as orange flickers. A collection of nothing important at all. His ears and eyelids both lowered, thoughts drifting into that dark reverie they often visited as of late.
A whisper inside asked what bad could really happen if he just picked a direction to walk in and never stopped, if he would start to feel anything different along the way or if the cold would just slowly numb him altogether.