The morning light filters through the makeshift den the wanderer had made trees, he had been comforted by the peace accompanied by his own heart beating and the living souls of everything around him, as well as the excitement of exploration of a land vastly unknown to him. The gentle sunlight dances here and there over his moderately dark coat, and the wanderer stirs from his dreaming, muscles warming as he stretches, his jaws opening in a yawn as he does his morning stretch. He is still sleepy, and yet with every second that ticks by he becomes more awake, his orange-amber eyes opening to greet these new lands. He shakes his luxurious fur out, as the last vestiges of sleep are pushed from his form, ears swiveling at the distant sound of a pile of snow dropping to the ground. His orange-amber eyes take in what scenery the morning offers him, a glow of excitement within the orange hued depths. He feels secure in the fragile den he has carved out for himself, a little niche carved for himself in the winter frost. White snow was everywhere, and it painted quite the lovely picture.

It was his first night in these white coated lands so strange, and yet despite the familiar season it reminds him nothing of home, so he simply is all too eager to take everything in. He decides that it is about time to move about for the day, and he decides he will return to his den later, as it was as cozy as a den for one could be. He sets out to explore, his internal wanderlust and drive to learn being content with his decision, because Niflheim had decided long ago that his life was meant for this. He was meant to wander forever, to see as many places as he possibly could, to meet as many others as he possibly could, so he doesn't worry about the future. The thought of the future has always been fleeting, because his thoughts linger merely in the present, centered by what his lonely presence was doing as each second passes. Perhaps this is a flawed way to think, perhaps this will one day lead to his untimely demise, but he doesn't seem to think about those sorts of things either. His fur colored of smoke and mist perhaps suites the winter scenery, as if he were figments of a warmer season that hasn't succumbed to the cold. The topline of his coat is littered with white gray hue as if snow has begun to cling there, even if that is just the way his coat colour is.