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you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far
That's the colt's first thought as he steps from smooth grass onto chilly snow for the first time in his short life, glancing down in awe at the crunchy noise it makes under his hooves. Since birth he has been sticking closely to the safety of his dam's side, but as the days pass he finds himself growing ever more adventurous, youthful shyness replaced by boyish bravado and an eagerness to stick his furry little nose anywhere he possibly can. So far, Volterra is proving to be very taste-orientated, because he has a tendency to stick his tongue on anything he can possibly find in an attempt to ascertain what it is. Life for him is a series of flavours; the warm tang of milk, the yucky but curious flavour of grass when he tries to copy his mother and eat it, the sweet taste of his sister's flesh that's so similar to the flavour he gets when he bites his own sides to remove a fly. He'll undoubtedly grow out of this, but like a teething baby, the young volcano has an urge to put anything he finds in his mouth.
Obviously, the snow beneath his feet is no different. His crimson eyes shine with delight as he dives forwards, skidding on his knees in the padded moisture beneath him. He proceeds to lower his powerful young neck and take a great bite of the cold white fluff directly in front of him, chomping loudly as he tries to determine what it is. He gums at it, poking it around his mouth, until... "Coooooooooold!" The boy's wail rings out as the snow touches the roof of his mouth and sends an explosion of icy pain right up into his skull, making him squeal and spit the chunks out as fast as he possibly can. Even once his mouth is ice-free, the pain continues to spasm through his head, and even rubbing it against a foreleg doesn't seem to shift it. All he can do is stand still with a pout of utter disgust plastered on his lips, waiting for his brainfreeze to subside, looking like the picture of abject misery with snow coating his chest and forelegs and an expression of considerable pain on his young face.
Snow 1, Volterra 0.
[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]
