You're busy dying if you're living in the past

Darkness engulfed the Basin when he awoke, and for some time, he thought that this might be another trial from the Goddess of the Moon. In the sky, no stars were visible, nor the moon itself, or even the faintest silhouette of clouds. It was strange indeed, for the Weaver had yet to find anything else terribly wrong other than it being dark; he was not plagued in irrational fear, thank the heavens, nor was there anything bodily wrong with him...

His thoughts shifted quickly to his young daughter and his bonded. Were they safe? Bending his neck around, the brindle strained to see their forms further back in the small cave he'd claimed as his own. The last thing he wanted to do was step out from the cave only to have them wake and be stricken with overwhelming fear, but if Crowley had learned anything from this curse, it was that Talbot and Rhiannon both were much braver than he had ever realized. He wouldn't be gone long, that he would assure.

"I'll be back," he whispered softly, dropping his head and pressing his muzzle lovingly into his daughter's side, doing his best to be gentle so as not to wake her. With that, he sucked in a deep breath and made his way out of the comfort of their dark cave.

Once out in the open, it was not much different than it had looked. In fact, it was much worse. Crowley had long ago learned the layout of his home, but all the seasons living here couldn't prepare him for the haphazardly placed rocks that managed to get in his way and cast him stumbling away. An annoyed snort cracked from the Weaver's nostrils after he'd regained his balance, and slowing up his pace, he continued even more carefully towards the middle of the Basin. In the distance shone a light, and for a brief moment he paused, trying to fathom just what it could be. If memory served him right, he should be looking at the lake, but his sense of direction was nearly nonexistent. But if it was the lake... why was it glowing?

The thought that the world might be ending had yet to cross the Weaver's mind. He'd heard of a time before his arrival, when the God of the Sun had been banished by his brethren, leaving Helovia without the warmth of the Sun. Eventually he had come back, as was obvious... perhaps something of the same magnitude had happened? Breathing a sigh and shaking his head, the brindle tried to rid his head of divine circumstances; they were out of his control, if that was indeed what was going on.

Not far from him, something suddenly caught in his ears. A pulling sound, followed by the creak of wood and then, finally, a soft tearing. Turning his head to look in the direction it had come from, the Weaver strained his golden eyes against the blackness that covered his surroundings. He couldn't see the culprit, but their scent coupled with the crunch of snow underfoot was enough to assure him that it was another resident of the Basin. "Who's there?" He spoke up, growing silent for a moment as if waiting for some sort of reply before he went on, "You know... Hide and seek never was one of my favorite games."