Hoshor Plains the fire tests the gold

The world was white and nothing else. Whatever had once grown freely here upon the plains was now crusted with ice, or dead and withered, or flattened to nothingness beneath a deepness of snow that it no longer mattered. In every direction there was white, it was blindingly pristine.

And through the center of the would-be meadow was Aquila, a grim speck loitering like a blemish. A brisk wind picked up as he stood there idling and soon enough, a fresh wave of snow was coating everything. He shook his shoulders and it did no good for him. With a sullen little grunt he ducked his head in to the wind and began to find his way.

Alarian was digging. The boy couldn’t have given a reason if asked, but he was having a nice time, so perhaps it didn’t matter. He was shoulders-deep in the hole now, beginning to hit frozen dirt under the snow. After a few moments his paws started to ache, cold and now sore from digging in hard dirt, so he decided to peer out of his hole.
The boy’s ears rose up from the snow first, and then his eyes and nose came into view as he lifted himself up with a most serious expression, surveying the area around him. His head turned this way and that, until finally he saw something-- another wolf, trotting through the snow alone. Instantly Alarian’s attention was focused, and he hopped from his hole easily. He stayed where he was, chuffing softly to get the other’s attention and hoping desperately he would be more interesting than digging in snow.