Silver Creek our ghosts will wander all of the water

@Queenie

The middle of winter made Brig slightly less concerned about himself, and slightly more concerned about Adéwalé. It was (or so the jackdaw said) cold enough that, for once, he didn't have to worry about overheating, but the bird just had feathers and since almost every other bird had gone south for the winter, and since they were rarely around where Brig lived to begin with, he couldn't help paying less attention to making sure his paws didn't get frostbite and more attention to the gentle pressure of Adéwalé's talons on his back.

"And you're sure --" he started again.

"How many times have we discussed this," came the response. "Get those paws up."

Brig huffed, but dutifully started walking faster. Melted snow clung to the fur around his pawpads, freezing into ice; he had no doubt there was plenty collecting on his muzzle and whiskers with his breath. The bare-branched trees above rustled in the wind, and the ear on the sightless side of his face swept slowly back and forth to the rush of water. If it had been warmer, it would have been a good time to fish, or swim, but he'd been told you weren't supposed to do that in winter and he didn't relish the concept of Adéwalé's inevitable loud cawing directly in his ear when he tried.

Despite that he couldn't say he wasn't enjoying the walk, even as he kept sniffing for anything that might indicate a wolf nearby or a half-frozen carcass he could turn into his next meal. There was something beautiful about the winter, the white of the snow against brown and silvery tree bark and the pale ice-blue of the sky.

He didn't really know where he was, much less where he was going, but that was fine.