12/18/2024, 11:24 PM
Inside the Eastbourne castle; snowing.
Winter had arrived in full. Francis' anxieties over it all were proven mostly unfounded, as the Concord had pulled together well too keep all in their borders fed and warm. He was proud of their hard work, and always eager to pull his own weight when opportunities presented themselves. The winter chill seeped through the castle's carved stone persistently, not easily banished by the sun's brief warmth. He'd done his best to source decent pelts to drape around the castle to keep the residents warm. It was a deer hide the Prince slept in his 'room' curled up on. His silky pelt had thickened with the winter and autumn chill, and it was difficult for the cold to bite at him too severely, but he found the softness of the worn hide pleasant. Before the fall had entirely disappeared beneath a blanket of pristine porcelain, Francis had taken dried sprigs of lavender and rubbed them into the hide in the hopes of keeping it sweet-smelling.
He stretched now from his cozy perch, shaking the detritus from his pelt as the Prince jumped down from the raised platform he used as a bed to the cool stone floor. He hissed a little as the chill nipped at his pawpads before he adjusted, trotting out of the room and into the wide, tall-ceilinged hallway. A threadbare once-rug lined the floor, largely hidden beneath now-dormant vines. Francis picked his way through the hallway with practiced ease, breathing in the familiar scents of his packmates. The winter chill put him often in a good mood despite the stressors the season came with.
He rounded the corner, then, slipping from the hallway into one of the rooms he suspected to be a reading room or parlor. Empty or half-destroyed bookcases lined one wall, though all the books were unreadable and water damaged beyond recognition. A few desiccated armchairs and a sofa's corpse were strewn about the room, the curved edges of their now-colorless upholstery coated in a thin layer of snow blown in from the nearly floor-to-ceiling window that faced over the gardens to the east. Francis stepped over a stack of ruined books, striding up to the window. The glass had long since been lost to weather and other damages, allowing this particular room to face the ravages of the elements quite directly. Snow crunched underfoot as Francis neared the windowsill's edge, before seating himself. The gardens sprawled before him. They would flourish again once the spring came, but for now, hedges and flower groves were all sheltered beneath a layer of snow. His breath fogged slightly on the air, tail curling around his haunches as he watched the winter wonderland wake slowly. Snowflakes, fat and lazy, drifted down from the heavy overcast clouds slowly, a faint breeze swirling a few to drift in and land atop the Prince's golden crown and muzzle.