Since We've No Place To Go, Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow!

Drífa eyed the darkening sky. Evening was falling and the clouds were gathering above her, swiftly blocking out the sun. To the north she could see a dark band looming across the horizon. Clouds, swollen with snow, were easing their way southward. She felt so close to home but picked up the pace to be sure. Her bagged jostled across her shoulders as she leapt deftly over a small creek and into the mouth of the gorge. Brynhildr flew above her in silence, but she knew the raven was troubled by the weather. The air was growing colder by the moment and then suddenly everything was still, eerily slow.

She focused on the path in front of her. The ground was icy from a bout of freezing drizzle the night before. Ice clung to the trees but it was mostly dull and lifeless compared to the shimmering light of morning that danced and refracted within their frozen forms. Drífa paused, panting then rotated her shoulders, trying to ease the tightness. She'd been out gathering a variety of barks. She hoped to test them out in poultices and see if she could discren any medicinal qualities from them. Winter was a hard time for fresh herbs. She pretty much had to rely on what she'd gathered during better months or take the time to venture far south to greener pastures.

Snow started to fall, gently at first. Large flakes danced and twirled before the wind suddenly came screaming down from the north. Drífa flinched. The cold bit into her ears and she narrowed her eyes against the stinging snow. It was falling heavily now, blowing almost horizontally across the terrain. Brynhildr tumbled for a moment then caught herself, choosing to land on Drífa's back rather than fight the strong winds. One thing was clear they needed to get to shelter. Between the wind and the snow she was finding her visibility dropping rapidly. Thankfully she had a half dug storage den out here somewhere. If she could just find it they could take shelter there.