Striking mights and maybes even more

A useless thing called life

It's a biting cold again

Winter always came early to the northlands, snow piling itself on the ground already in fall. The nights grew longer, the days shorter, bleaker, and the wind had a bitter bite to it. But when it seemed like the rest of Helovia had finally caught up and drawn the blanket of snow around herself, the north pushed on - savage, relentless. Already the wind bit even sharper, small needles of ice sinking into the skin like hungry teeth. Mauja was used to it, built for it - liked it, even. Masochistic as it might sound, Frostfall was the season that convinced him that he was still alive. There was nothing like drawing a deep lungful of freezing night air, like running through the snow, or watching the cold, distant stars and the dancing fires of the northern lights. And all these things, he found out here, coupled with the keening of the wind and its merciless bite. The scarcity of food didn't concern him overmuch, as he knew to browse wherever he went, never stopping for too long like you could do when grazing in summer. Thick, shaggy fur covered most of him, with the exception of his burnt backside. It was only stubble yet.

A lone figure, and a small one at that, broke the horizon, a stain of darkness against the pristine white. The wind blew in Mauja's face, tiny claws sinking into the sensitive skin, and it brought the clear scent of Tamlin. What was his son doing out here, all alone? Lotus was nowhere in sight, neither was Kou. It looked like they were well and truly alone.

"Halló, sonur," he called, just in case Tamlin didn't catch sight of him. He was, after all, quite hard to spot. And truly, his son looked quite pitiful, ass to the wind and lynx pelt bunched up around his neck like a sail. Sighing, as if to say boys, trust them to get their pelts in a tangle, he ran his muzzle across the colt's forehead, before pushing it against the soft fur of the lynx. On his shoulder, Irma watched with barely blinking eyes as Mauja's attempts to straighten it out failed. No matter that he pushed it against Tamlin's snowy hindquarters and tried to make it snug around him so it'd catch on his dock instead of fly up, it defied him and sprung up like a sail again. Giving a sort of beaten laugh, he spoke again. "Jæja, ég reyndi."

( lol this became crap. xD soooo tired. )