The world lay in a shroud of silence, the kind only a winter dawn could bring. Snow drifted down offering the only sound - a gentle whispering silvery sound. Even the birds were quiet this morning, sleeping much as the world did.

Beneath the quiet, a flicker of movement broke the illusion of emptiness. A small weasel emerged from the underbrush, it's tiny light body moving across the snow's surface with practiced ease. It moved with purpose, paws skimming the top layer of snow like a little dancer. It weaved between bushes, along the lower trunks of trees, and out into the open with caution.

As it approached the open, it climbed a mound of snow much larger than itself so that it might stand upright and see the world around itself. There was the faintest movement beneath the snow that sent the weasel scurrying and sending up a puff of snow.

Where the weasel had been a moment ago was a tuft of gilded fur, warm as sunlight against the blinding white. The snow shifted again as the lifeless mound begin to stir and steam, presumably from breathing, rose from the mound. As snow fell away more, golden ears tipped with frost appeared and twitched to life.[/q]

Somewhere beneath the white blanket was Walter, though he knew not where he was nor even how he became here. He was in a state of fitful dreaming, his body twitching now and again.

TW gore/death memories!

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Had he known she were there he might have stirred to greet her in gentlemanly fashion. Instead, he was curled tightly in on himself. Dreams of days gone by drifted through his mind like sand down slopes. A shifting memory of a small lake, the water sweet and refreshing, of a vicious fight and a man left dead. A dark woman with blue eyes who worried over his wounds. It cascaded as dreams often did. To an aftermath of a terrible battle. To the tang of blood on his skin, seeping into his fur, pouring forth from the bodies of his loved ones. He twitched all the more at the disturbance. Blood, tears, betrayal setting him into fitful sleep.

His mother...

When he awoke, it was with a jolt. The movement sent snow trickling and spraying out from him as he found himself up and on all fours. He twisted about at instant with a snarl, convinced that he was fighting at his father's side. The taste of his mother's blood was on his tongue, the feeling of her supple body limp against his own. It permeated his mind, and never in his life would he forget it. The quiver in Bart's voice as he'd begged Walter to step away so that they could both go.

The young golden man's breath was heavy, his fur standing on end as plumes of mist rose from his open muzzle. It took a few moments for him to settle and actually see his surroundings. The forest, the clear patch he stood in, and the woman who was quietly watching him from nearby. He froze once more as his eyes passed over her, starting with her body and settling on her face. Scanning images in his head for any sign of recognition.

She was soft and elegant and in ways most definitely reminded him of his mother, though in others not quite. Darker, ruddier, tones of the earth, and a scent that reminded him of harvest time. The blue eyes were familiar in a forlorn way that he couldn't quite place, but that was all. Just blue eyes haunting the back of his mind.

He struggled to pull words to the forefront but he could only swallow, once again looking all around them as if to ensure that they were indeed alone together. The snow didn't lie. There was only him, the tracks of some small animal, and the tracks of the woman leading to him.

Where was he?