city in a garden

The very cusp of the seasons changing was a nerve wracking time in the mountains. Yet... the greyscale titan was so far from home when the first few flakes began to tumble from the sky in the eastern lands. At first they didn't notice the change, the distinct aroma of snowfall unnoticed amidst the fervour to uncover some cobbles and small boulders. A well worn hide was stretched out on the ground on an outcropping about halfway from the summit, where they were already familiar with the terrain and the pockets of useful minerals. It was only once a thick dusting of heavy, damp flakes had begun to impede their progress of harvesting choice stones that they paused. For most of the year, the snow that covered the mountains of Fenrir's Maw was moved by the breeze, and new snowfall was rare. This was not a great sign.

Gunmetal gaze drifted along the crags and outcroppings of the Maw in search of a cave to hole up in if the weather worsened. So far it was no more than fat, damp flakes of snow tumbling haphazardly from the heavens and settling against the fibres of their coat. So, they continued to work. Shoving heavier stones aside in hopes of uncovering more of the smaller sized stones and rocks that would be perfect for knapping into bowls and cups. In the back of their mind they were also searching for unique shapes, or indicators of something interesting within. Sometimes the rocks, once cracked open, revealed strange figures and shapes buried within their cores. Those sold well without any work to modify them, and so they were always keeping an eye out.