Silver Creek Dashing through the snow

Snow sucked.

The farther they traveled and the colder it got, the more he realized just how awful winter was. Though the thickness of his fur took a bit of the edge off, it had never been enough to offer him anything close to comfort. And though he’d tried to stay close to his sister at all times, to both lend her his heat and borrow from hers, he’d fallen behind on more than one occasion. Always was she pressed so closely to Seff, so he worried little about her own well-being—so little, actually, that he’d been able to feel jealous. Not of Freyja, but of the new male in her life; Hvit had convinced himself that there was a risk of him stealing her away, and so he’d always caught up again after falling behind. Never had he paid as much attention to his sisters as he had her, for she was the one that had always been there for him and vice versa. So, despite how uncomfortable and cold their journey had made him, he’d always stayed close when he could, having yet to utter a single word.

When the couple had stopped, Hvitserk had taken the opportunity to move up along the side opposite of the one Seff was on. There he’d stood, looking first at his sibling, and then out towards the silhouette. Leery, his ears fell flat against his head and the fur along his spine bristled, but not a sound left his mouth. He’d leaned closer to Freyja unconsciously, watching and waiting, feeling especially protective.