Bearclaw Valley and this is the day, i die for it

a series of light sneezes behind caused indra to turn, her head tilted to the side in concern until the last achoo had been eeked from blondine's muzzle. she felt a small smile play her lips as blondine apologized -- indra certainly shared her sentiment. she was not a fan of the cold. snow was a terribly fatal beauty, she had come to find -- the cold that came with it was often unendurable.

"nor mine." she replied, turning back to the trail. they came to a gentle rise and blondine canted her muzzle in the direction of a shaded copse. through the bare trees indra could make out the thin cervine forms as they milled in the snow, scraping the hardened ground with slender and delicate legs. she pressed herself to the snow and inched forward, an ear pulled towards blondine. she was not the expert here, and would wait for blondine's word.