There was something about the winter he found to be almost peaceful.
The night sky felt larger, clearer — as if it had expanded to swallow up more of the universe and rolled it all across the meadow. The air had an edge to it, a sharp bite when a gust of wind blew across the flat fields, but he did not mind. He tucked his wings closer to his body, trapping the warmth against his ribs. He liked the way it all went quiet in the colder months, the electric buzz of summer having lowered to a dull, background hum. The illusion that everything has slowed down feels like the unraveling of a knot in his chest, and it loosens a sigh from his lips, his breath pluming before him like smoke as he glances up to the starlit sky.
There is nothing in particular that he is looking for tonight. While he would not consider himself fond of solitude, he also did not mind it. If all he had was his thoughts and the stars, that was enough to keep him occupied until morning.
He finds himself ascending a small knoll, the cold breeze lifting at his tangled mane. There is no snow, yet, and the sky was too clear for there to be a chance of any tonight, but the air had that feel to it that some might arrive soon. And up there, from a certain angle, he nearly melds perfectly with the sky above him, save for the starlit halo casting a glow across his dark face.
@phaetra