Work Text:
Footsteps light as air wander the plains.
The ice melts, and golden grasses sway in their wake.
They continue on, for this is not their place.
Beyond lowly hillocks and meandering creeks, they wander.
For a time they drift weightless, painting clouds in rich hues.
Footsteps transform into multitudes, miscroscopic millions moving as one.
Their journey slows, spreading roots and growing branches.
The forests thicken, the mountains rise.
Yet still, they search.
Footsteps heavy as rain seep into the earth.
Lichen blooms with every pace, dense and verdant.
Fiddleheads unravel their shoots, young and tender.
The giants loom ever larger, cedars that spread wide to share refuge.
Sunlight dapples across flowing waters, and shimmering scales writhe beneath.
Footsteps nourish the undergrowth, pinpricks of colour turning juicy and sweet.
The raven watches, the eagles soar.
In every crook and cranny, life proliferates.
Here, they will stay.
Footprints smooth and solid lead a path.
Sharp claws till the dirt, soft pads compress it.
White fur grows thick, though much unlike the others.
There's a chill in the air, bringing with it a deep hunger.
The rivers run bountiful, and teeth sink into salmon-coloured flesh.
Footprints endure in frosted claybeds, a commemoration of lives alchemized.
Survival is paramount, yet never guaranteed.
Movement turns slow and lumbering, the weight of each limb a labour.
Here, they will rest.
Footprints warm through remnants of snow.
Large and small, not from one but three.
Rotund little offspring, voracious where they wobble.
There is much to teach them, yet there is much still to learn.
This land of mortals perplexes, the two-leggeds grow bold.
Footprints carry on, and ancient cycles persist.
Death begets life here, boasting profound beauty in decay.
An illusion of a forest both timeless and new, where magic flows deep underground and high in the air.
A fitting place for lost gods, who roam as white bears.