Björn is quick, mindful as he moves across the nearly-frozen north. Scrambling, nails scraping hard against the stony earth below. The marble wash is stark, and the pale terrain reflects just as much light as midwinter snow. It's beautiful, but there's something so eerie. So strange, all the same.

As he nears the river at the base of the territory, trying to travel deeper, Björn makes a choice. Chancing his way out on the ice, at first it seems like it will hold. Slick as it is, he can maintain an upright posture fairly well. It's still hard work for his muscles, clamoring across the ice.

Digging in, but certainly more concerned when he hears telltale cracking. Too far in to turn back, too far out to feel confident continuing... Björn wouldn't panic, but shit, he wanted to. One deep breath. Keep going.

"Björn"

The frigid wind bit against the exposed flesh of her leg and shoulder and not for the first time, she wondered if it was worth her while being this far north. Hazel persisted, so, so did she. But the desire to retreat to the south, where ice rarely covered the ground, was working its way into her bones with every blustering blast of icy wind.

Violet eyes narrowed against the bone white of the stones. Gazing out over the icy expanse of the frozen river bed, a dark antlered shape was picking its way across in her direction. She tipped her head. Was the ice even solid enough to be crossing this time of year?