Permafrost Hollows Go Home, You're Drunk

This land was fucking weird. She didn't like it, but if Tezcacoatl was staying, so was she. She just didn't have to like it. She was used to warmer weathers and climates where things actually warmed up and felt alive. This part of the wilds? There was something depressing about it. The ground never fully warmed up. The ice never truly melted. It was cold. Far colder than she was used to and with the cold came the absence of life. Or a lack of it. She was used to forests filled with birdsong. Now? She felt like the only thing birds she heard were the sounds of the silent predators waiting for her to die so they could eat. It was unnerving. 

She felt as though she always had to be alert and listening. Her ears lifted upon her head, hyperaware of any crunching twigs or anything other than the whispering wind. Citali ventured, a bit north of the ridge her prince wished to claim, but she figured if they were moving in, it couldn't hurt to better know the surroundings. Ugh. They were dismal.

Brilliant evergreens stood. Kind of. They more so leaned one direction or the other; as though they couldn't fully stand up. She wandered between them and felt herself leaning with them to slink around their edges. It was strange. That tree was practically sideways, yet somehow it still stood. She wanted to go home. Even the trees in this place were sick. They looked drunk. Staggered. She didn't even understand how they were still alive.

Alas, she wandered and scouted, making the best of it because that was the only option she had at her disposal. If it came down to laughing or crying, she'd have to laugh. There was no way in hell she was gonna let anyone see her cry.