Bushes of heather as far as the eye could see.
His eyes narrowed in pleasure as he stood amongst the rolling fields; a statue of gold finely draped in silky threads. Even the cold wind couldn't deter the poet’s soul – he ignored the frost biting at his paw pads, the hunger churning his stomach, the confusion of his awakening in this place.

He took it all in stride, unbothered by the world imposing new rules upon him. He would figure it out somehow.
With that indomitable peace of mind, he finally took a step forward, lowered his nose to the plants and took a big whiff of their sweet fragrance. Life could be simple, life could be easy. Smell flowers, eat good food, drink fresh water, write poems in the sand.

There was no sand here though, and it all felt awfully cold – a chill went over Jinzhou’s shoulders and he grimaced for a second. He let his eyes sweep over the field, hoping to catch a glimpse of another living being. He couldn't be alone in this cold. He just couldn't. He’d die for sure !

Hello ? His voice was searching, but strangely calm. Prey can rest for I shall not hunt; predator can pass for I have no meat. No meat on his bones indeed, but it was his good nature who drove him to throw this greeting to the wind. It didn't even matter if nobody heard; greeting the plants was already enough for the gentle artist.