Blacktail Deer Plateau I'm not actually sure what a movie is anymore

The days felt longer here than at the seaside, but that made little sense as the hours were shortening in preparation for winter. It would be Reyes' first, and he had zero understanding of the changes that the world faced in the meantime. He did not know that the chilling of the air would soon freeze rain in to ice, or that the high winds that usually blustered the coastal territories were busy sweeping together dangerous clouds.

There hadn't been sun for days. Or if there had been, those clouds had blotted it out to a greyness that matched his mood. The clouds of dust had started almost as soon as they'd arrived to the plateau, making him pine for the shelter of the cove or the hollow where Scarab kept his most prized possessions — and in turn, this soured the boy's mood further, as Reyes thought about his splintered family.

He was sulking and lurking in tandem with the drifting specks, listening for rain against the sparsely wooded glen (when there was barely any sound), or watching as the plateau's more exposed sections faded with ash underfoot. Things were hazy; paler, monochromatic, and in a way more haunting, although he only saw what his gloom-tinted glasses allowed. Shuddering trees fighting the wind and a slick dark mountainside gathering ruin.

Beyond the ledge he had rooted himself, drifting within the almost-snow, there was a large white wolf he had never seen before. He watched them next, but said nothing.