she forced a smile

It sure was a lot colder here than it had been back in the Plains. Hazel wasn’t so sure about it. Really, she wasn’t so sure about a lot of things these days… coming of age, and all that. Coming of age stories. Those really were the ones for the ages. They’re the ones that everyone writes about all the time. Every teen romance novel, every teen adventure novel, every teen fiction novel. Hazel kicked absently at the stone floor beneath her paws, grumbling to herself as she hunched her shoulders against an errant breeze. What a shame that this wasn’t fiction. This was her real, actual life. This was her real, actual life and she’d have to live it.

Her mood today is less than pleasant, honestly. Hazel had honestly woken up on the wrong side of the bed. The wrong side of the bed, you see, was the one that had a rock under it. While the Armada was still getting settled into their new home, Hazel thought she’d found a decent spot for her bed. After two nights of sleeping there, the girl realized she’d thought wrong. As she walked, she grumbled once more. Stretching. Walking. Walking. Stretching. Step by step, Hazel was trying to force her back into alignment again. Ow. Maybe she should have been more careful when setting herself up, but whatever. She’d settle it… later.

Out into what would soon be the marketplace, Hazel finally stepped. Snow had come overnight, and it blanketed the world in something that (if she’d been in a better mood) could be… nice? Still, why did they have to move during the winter? Hazel wasn’t above questioning her dad directly, but the Warlord had been too busy for her to ask. Moving from somewhere that was relatively comfortable to the winter to somewhere as unforgiving as the north seemed like an unnecessary complication. Hazel sat back on her haunches, taking in the snow where it had drifted into piles. What would they even do with all of it? It seemed that her mood wouldn’t improve any.

Well, it wouldn’t improve any by just sitting there and staring at it. No, she may as well do something about it. Her green eyes danced across the sparkling surface of the snow, trying her best to make out the progress they’d made setting up the market. There was so much work to do… and in the winter? Ugh. Ugh! For as different as Hazel could be, she was still a teenage girl, and there would still be dramatics– albeit internal ones. Her ears flattened to her head as she set to work, beginning to clear the snow away from the pathways. The red and pale yearling grumbles as she works, but she works nonetheless.

It’s chilly work, but at least it looks halfway decent when she’s done. The dug away snow joins the drifts, and it’s one of those piles that manages to catch her eye. Well… if she was going to do all this shoveling on her own then she should have some fun, right? Hazel thought so, and there was no one here to tell her otherwise, so… fuck it. On steady, speedy paws, the girl circles the mound, clicking her tongue to herself as she works. Visualizes. It really… it really did look sorta like Bear, when she was asleep. Yeah, she could see the start of a paws, the mound of her back and her shoulders, and even her tail. Perfect.

With a little less artistry than someone with more patience, Hazel sets about packing the snow. The mound itself sits right beside the entrance to the Col, and would be hard to miss. Snow Bear would guard them, in the same way that Bear kept her eye on Hazel and the rest of the Armada’s somewhat wayward youth. Intently, biting her lip to herself, she packs and carves until she’s pleased with the way the head comes together. From the head, she moves to the shoulders, doing her best to make the snow sculpture look maybe a bit more imposing than Bear actually was. For all of her potential ire, Hazel had only ever seen her be gentle. Well, unless you’re a flower. But even then, she had her way of apologizing.

Yes, shoulders done, now on to the haunches and rump. Hazel was quite pleased with herself, the form of the sleeping snow bear coming together quite well. Though the art was primitive at best, it seemed very fitting. Very suitable. Very… nice. She’d done nice work, and she wasn’t afraid to admit that, at least to herself. Hazel’s tail wagged loosely at her haunches, and for the first time today, her mood lifted just a bit. The sticky snow (probably having something to do with the humidity) lent well to being packed and shaped, carved and molded. Finishing the sculpture’s paws, Hazel took one big step back to admire her work.

It was missing… something. Yeah, something. She thought to herself for a long moment before racing up one of the small hills, carefully picking away at the crust of snow with one of her claws. Yes! Right where she’d last seen them. Carefully, the red and pale yearling picked up two of the purple flowers that had managed to survive the hard frost, and still looked mostly-intact despite the snow (Halo had explained that Violas were especially hardy, not that Hazel was really listening). With the pair of blooms held in her teeth, Hazel returned to the sculpture to add her finishing touch. Behind snow Bear’s ear, she placed the flowers. Yes. Exactly like she wanted, and dare she say, perfect.


"Speech"