A shadow glides over the snowdrifts, dissolving among the trunks, while somewhere deep in the forest, a ghostly rustle is heard—thin as a crack in the ice, timid as the first ray of sun in a gray dawn. The rider holds her breath: did a bird take flight from a branch, or did an unseen shadow of life pass beneath the snow? The forest stands still, yet within this stillness lies movement—elusive, slipping away, as if space itself quietly shifts from one form to another.

Added Feb 24, 2025

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