As time passes a subtle thaw begins to melt the snow.  And so begins a process that subtly shifts back and forth from winter to spring until it finally decides and yields into something more…certain.  Glacial caverns of ice peel away to show the harder core of stone, red grass blooms.

At some point, the fragrance in the air dies until all that can be smelled is its absence, a hollow thing, marked by nothing more than by what it should contain.  Should.  Should.  A hollow concept as empty as the air.

One hunter lifts his head and regards another.  A glance is shared.  As the other trots off into the sloping hills to look for prey, the first watches until the finer details can’t be made out, simply the shape and shadows.  Wind skates down through the valley and stirs him from his silent stare.

Clouds roll across the sky and block the setting sun, casting everything into shadows.  His pupils dilate.  Long moments later, he, too, sets out into the hills.  Into the blackness with its empty air.