The air was cold, especially being so near to the sea. And yet, she did not mind it too terribly; although generally appearing sleek in the warmer months, Arcelia surely inherited her winter coat from her father. This did not concern her, however, the white feathers falling down from the sky did. She was not entirely familiar with the owl that frequented Aningan’s side but she knew enough to recognise the similarity of the colours. But... when these feathers brushed against her nose, they seemed to then vanish, causing her concern to grow. She gazed up at the sky but there were no birds overhead, nothing that should be producing this mystical plumage.

What could it be, then?

Lost in thought, there was no telling for how long she stood there—equal parts admiring and questioning those peculiar feathers. But there was a shift in the air about her being, and so she tilted her muzzle down. Scanning her surroundings, she nearly missed the white beast, seeming but a mere wisp disturbing the previously steady descent of feathers. And when she realised he was of flesh and blood, she nearly spooked—but he was not wholly unfamiliar, as she thought, and she recognised his gnarled face; she knew him in passing, primarily.

“Are you also curious about the feathers?” she called out, having nothing else to refer to the snowflakes as. Then, she could not help but to wonder how her sister would think of the sight. Would she, too, be lost in the mystery of it?