It was too frigging cold to be allowed. Everything was frozen, from the snow on the ground to the trees and the grass and the air in his lungs. Even the simple act of pissing was nervous business these days because Morir was never sure whether he'd be able to finish without freeing his dick off. He had a feeling he was leaving a crumb trail of yellow icicles behind, and as a result took an extra moment to sniff sceptically at any ice he in turn was about to lick to get precious fluids - you never knew what might hide beneath a layer of freeze these days.

The only thing good about this winter was that he at least wasn't sweating. The big bear of a horse could not for the life of him understand how it could be colder down here than on the northern tundras where he had grown up - and it probably wasn't either. The mellow summer must have made him soft, or perhaps all the hiding in caves while waiting for his wounds to heal hadn't let his winter coat grow out quite like it usually did... and regardless it didn't matter. Life was still boring, still empty and pointless, and he had more scars to carry than before. By some miracle he had survived from his battle with the seaside beast, an even bigger miracle was that he hadn't ended up lame and limping for the rest of his life - his legs were crisscrossed with hairless patches that looked as though they'd been wrapped in barbwire. The previously so thick and lush feathering grew back in bristly tufts - but if being less fabulously handsome than before was the price he had to pay for his life, then by all means. Take the horns on his head too, the mane falling from the neck, take his tail and ears and tongue too! Morir was not going to die, death was bound to be even more boring than the present.

The stag shuffled aimlessly through the snow-cloaked forest without knowing where he was going or why he was headed there. Breath lingered like small clouds around the bone-dressed muzzle, coating winter beard and whiskers alike in glittering frost. There was no wind that morning, not a cloud in the sky. The sun had yet to rise and lingered below the horizon, dyeing the sky in iron and black - Morir thought even the sun itself had to loathe the miserable cold, or it would rise and drive away the worst of the nights chill a bit faster. The difference between day and night was barely noticeable, but when the temperature of the air was the only clue you had to go on... well.

A squawking sound nearby made the unicorn stop, a furry ear twisting in mild curiosity. He could hear the sound of wings beating against air, a clatter of branches and twigs scraping against one another. Then a caw cut the silence, harsh and angry and tired.

"A raven..?" Frowning slightly Morir shifted and brought himself towards the struggling bird. Ravens were important to him, had always been ever since he was a colt. They held an important place in the pantheon of gods and spirits he had been taught to believe in, and even though these were not the lands of the Bird of Death and Rebirth, some things were just... hard to shake. The caws and squawks of the big passerine bird grew louder as he came upon the shrub and reached out the nose to find out why it wasn't flying away. A furious beak began to peck at his face when he came close enough. Most of the blows landed on the bony death-mask, yet enough landed on soft and tender skin and made the stallion flinch and pull away, grimace, then dive in again to lip searchingly across the warm mass of feathers.

A creature possessing eyes would likely have discovered the reality of the situation much faster, but though it took him a while Morir eventually concluded with some surprise that the bird literally had been frozen to the branch it'd been resting on. A layer of ice coated a scaly foot and prevented the pecker from taking off, leaving it angry and frightened and apparently rather affronted at being discovered in this humiliating situation. Snorting in some amusement the stag pondered the situation a bit, then took the branch, claw and all, between his lips and held it until the ice melted enough from his body heat. A final jerk from the bird and it was able to pull free, disappearing up and off without a backwards glance.

Feeling rather pleased with himself the stallion began to back away before he tangled himself completely into the shrub. It was pure coincidence that made his nose brush against a bundle of straw and clay within the twigs, mere curiosity that made him pause and examine it more closely.

Though whether it was coincidence or something else that led him to the small, round orb that nestled within the nest, he would never know. He wasn't sure what possessed him to check whether the egg had been frozen through, nor what made him pick it up between dark lips when he to his own surprise found that it was still warm. What Morir did know was that he was quite careful when he backed away from the shrub and turned so he could deliver the small, fragile treasure to the tail, even more thorough as he coiled the long appendage around it and made sure that no part of the shell came in contact with the cold air. When he turned to continue on his way, it was with a new goal in mind. Surely there had to be someone within the forest who could take care of the egg. For sure there had to be, and he would be able to leave it with them to keep it safe...