The world struggled. Something, somewhere, seemed to pulse with an energy that seemed to come from somewhere else.
And it was from this pulsing that the Ansbjørn took a gasping, heaving breath full of ice.
Well, what a way to wake up. It was better at least than his brother, Foxglove who had managed to land on a feeding trough in a significantly graceful way, but Laurent managed to wake from a heaving pile of ice laden branches of the mighty wisteria that had taken over the Rest. He panicked, scrambling and desperately scraping to free himself. Perhaps the way that the branches had been layered by nature herself.
The man let out a strangled yelp as his head finally broke the top of the pile, frantically heaving himself upwards to free the bulk of his body as soon as possible. The pressure had made it so difficult to take a full breath, his lungs burned with the cold to a point where it hurt even. The Enok Tundra was not one that was considered mild, but where the family had managed to find roost was at least tamer than this!
Laurent hoisted himself out of the deadfall, straight into the harshest weather he'd ever endured.
