With everyone getting more mobile and independent, it was only natural that the pups would immediately try pushing the boundaries. Poetry was not about to be left out of the adventures, and thus set off from the den before he could be caught. His sneaking skills weren't exactly the best, but he thought himself oh so clever when he crept out right before dawn. The "spring" air was cold on his face and the snow was biting his toes, but he ignored them both. It was time for adventure!!

The first thing to grab his attention was, in fact, the snow. He had been exposed to it before, of course, but it still fascinated him. Everywhere he went, little imprints of his feet stayed behind. One step in front of the other he went, head crained backward to watch his paw prints wind their way after him. His steps were all over the place since he wasn't watching where he was going. Step after step... right into a drift! Poetry stumbled when he ran into the wall of snow and fell forward, leaving his rump sticking out of the mound of snow. Back legs struggled and his tail lashed about as he tried to get out, but he was quite stuck. "Stupid snow!" Poetry growled and yipped, nipping at the snow.

Fatherhood came naturally to Sparhawk. The big man was terribly observant and always seemed to know where his children were and what they were doing. It was like a sixth sense in a way. So when Poetry, his only son, meandered away to play in the snow, the redwood man knew. He followed the boy with his eyes until he drifted out of sight, then he followed him on foot. The rest of the brood was with their mother and he knew that they were safe.

When Poet tipped headfirst into the snow drift, Sparhawk gave a stifled little laugh, not wanting to embarrass his boy, but also not able to hold it in. By the time he'd come up behind the boy, Poet had extracted himself from the snow. The child's exclamation about the white powder brought a chuckle from the giant brute and he dropped down onto his belly, scooping the boy into the space between his forelegs. "You know, where I coming from, is snow on the ground aaaaall the time. A whole lot more than this. Snow all year. Forever." He grinned, snuffling the top of the boys head. "Is not so bad. You learn to like it."

Poetry sputtered and shook his head, attempting to shake loose the snow that still clung to his face when who else but his father should arrive. His ears flattened to the side as he peered up to the giant man, wondering what he would have to say about his adventure so far. His father's mild laughter brought a huff from the boy, but his irritation was quickly swept away when Sparhawk laid down beside him and brought him close. Bicolored eyes lifted to his father's dark features, ready to speak a mile a minute about his ordeal but his elder was quicker with his tongue. The boy's eyes broadened when his father talked about his homeland, his gaze sweeping quickly around them to the white that blanketed everything.

Forever? Poetry shuddered at the thought, his eyes returning to Sparhawk. "No, don't think so," he declared, before leaning forward and snuggling himself in the fur at Sparhawk's chest and throat. "It's cold! And wet?" He lifted a paw and shook it, flinging a bit of snow away. "How'd you... 'learn to like it', Da? It's everywhere." He was quite emphatic on his last word and would probably have lifted his front paws and gestured around, but he was quite comfortable where he was. He adjusted to peek upward, half hoping his father would have good advice while his other half hoped he could stay like this for a bit.

His boy seemed disgusted at the prospect of snow all the time and Sparhawk laughed aloud, lips pulling back in a grin. Curling his forelegs, he allowed Poetry to sit atop them so that the pup didn't have to touch the snow unless he chose to. Since Poet was nuzzling into the thick fur of his father's chest, Sparhawk took the opportunity to hold him close in a warm embrace. No doubt he would soon be 'too big' for such things.

When Poet asked how his father managed to like snow, Sparhawk thought for a moment, giving his head a slight tilt as he did so. "When life gives you situation that you think is bad, you make it good." With his nose, he motioned to the snow all around them. "Take snow. Is cold and sometimes wet, but..." Extracting one leg from beneath the boy, the redwood man pushed into the drift that his son had fallen into. The snow cave way and, because the weather permitted and the snow was a little damp today, it caved easily, leaving a big hole in the side of the drift. "you can build with it. Build a cave or a snow wolf." He licked the top of his son's head, ridding it of a bit of clinging snow. "Snow also means you always have water. Is not all bad."

His father tightened his grip to give Poetry a hug, and the boy eagerly leaned into the affection. For now, the youngster enjoyed all the hugs and kisses his parents could possibly lavish on him, the embraces and gentle licks instantly causing him to smile and even giggle a little. He was so terribly loved, and could feel it each and every day. He looked up to Sparhawk with adoration, thinking him the biggest and strongest wolf in the world and he was his dad.

The dark man thought a moment on his son’s questions, then removed a paw from beneath him. Poetry couldn’t help a little grumble from puffing up his lips, turning to look where his father was reaching. He listened closely, and when the snow crumpled he giggled quietly; see? So strong. He looked back up with bright blue and lavender eyes, earnest in his listening. A cave sounded so fun! And a snow wolf?! The boy nearly started to vibrate with all the fun possibilities but he stayed put in his father’s arms. He hadn’t really given it much thought, obviously, but the snow did melt into water. Huh, interesting. He supposed eating cold snow would be okay in an emergency, but he certainly didn’t like the idea - wouldn’t that make him even colder?!

Quickly, he dashed all thought of eating snow away and jumped up, pouncing a few feet away. He turned and faced Sparhawk with a grin, his face full of wonder. “Da! Build a snow wolf with me! Please please please?!” He dropped into a play bow, his rear end wriggling in the air from his tail fluttering about wildly, anxiously awaiting his father’s answer.

Everything else that Sparhawk said to the boy seemed to go out the window with the mention of building a snow wolf. Poetry leaped away, excitement thrumming through the lads small form. "Okay, okay. We make." Rising from where he'd been laying in the snow, the redwood man moved towards the snow drift that his son had so recently face planted into. "First we must roll a big ball." Sitting, Sparhawk mashed some snow between his paws, packing it hard and as round as he could manage. "We start out small, like this, then..." Placing the hard packed ball down in the white powder, he began to push it. With each push, more snow clung to the little ball and it gradually became bigger and bigger. "Now you make next one."

Sparhawk continued to roll the ball until it was larger than Poetry. He then chose a spot for it right in front of the drift on a patch of flat ground and smoothed it out with his pads. Red eyes fixed on the boy, watching his progress. "Push, push." While Poetry was making the next snowball, Sparkawk moved to a nearby tree and snapped off three branches of similar size which he placed beside the ball that he'd made.