1/22/2025, 1:14 AM
What a wretched season winter was, but at least in this world, it was beautiful to look at. In her old life, the winter simply heralded an inability to get truly warm, even with how warm werewolves ran; a humid kind of cold that clung to the bones. Choumi spent as much time as she could in the kitchen, rising early just to fire up ovens and stoves to fill the frigid, musty air of the underground labyrinth with the smell of her latest baked goods or hearty soups.
Things were a little different during this winter. She had no stoves, no ovens to warm her by. No fresh-baked breads or steamed vegetables.
Only pristine snow, frosting the trees as Choumi walked through them. The skies were clear, and the sun beamed down to warm her dark back as the Ite walked. There was an unpleasant amount of mud in this area, thanks to the streams cutting through the landscape, but Choumi kept her chin up and tail swishing pleasantly. Any cold in her toes was mostly tolerable, thanks to her new pelt soaking up the sunlight and her perpetual movement keeping her muscles generating more warmth. The tiny hunter was plenty warm, no matter the temperature surrounding her, and she bounced from stone to stone through the quiet, still marshy forest. Ice shielded the still-running rivers, but Choumi pounced on one just to hear the satisfying snap under her paws before leaping free of the ice-water splashing her dark paws. She landed with a whuff, before movement and the sound of footfalls caught her attention. The scent on the wind was another wolf, not tinged with pack-smell, so Choumi trotted closer and wormed her way between a bush and a tree to step into view of the stranger so she could say hello.
