'Do I look like I’m cold? This is my element.'

The wombat’s quiet determination was oddly captivating. It moved deliberately through the frosted grass, each step purposeful yet unhurried. I found myself crouching slightly to match its level, as if doing so might help me understand its world better. Snowflakes landed softly on my sleeves as I watched it graze. There was no urgency in its movements—just a steady rhythm that seemed to mirror the pulse of this place. The wind carried the faint scent of damp earth and frost as I stood there longer than I intended. It felt like an unspoken truce between us: I wouldn’t disturb its grazing, and it wouldn’t mind my presence. In that moment, it was hard to tell which one of us was more at home here.