Cold!

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.