Redhawk Caldera That night something of youth and beauty died in the elder world

It was an unseasonably warm day following a particularly nasty dump of snow, which made for excellent snowball weather. You might say that making snowballs wasn't a very wolfish convention, but since when had Fiadh ever subscribed to such ridiculous notions as realism? Heavy flakes still fell from the sky as she made another lap of the rendezvous site, nose dug down into the thick snow.

The clump that collected on the end of her nose was deposited into the shallower snow within her own trail, and from there, Fiadh rolled a paw over it several times until it was crudely rounded. Just enough to roll with some physical persuasion. Then, she dipped her nose down and began to nudge it along, first in her trail, and then out into the deeper drifts toward the center of the clearing. All the while, her tail wagged, flinging sticky snow around in her wake, and occasional giggles warmed the surface of her growing snowball.