The Floodlands EVE online

16:10, light snow, -1 degrees C

Unknown to Mavis, Otis is writing this on Christmas Eve and is currently buried under three feet of blankets because British people like to pretend their winters are cold. Also unknown is that I have no idea how to start this toon, so we're winging this completely.

So, it was cold. No duh, it's winter but jeez, it was so feckin' cold!

If we're being honest here, Mavis had no idea what lay in wait for her after she'd announced her stupidly on-the-wing plan to her mother. It was risky, sure, but she wanted to spread her metaphorical wings so to speak. She'd become to bored of the islands, so bored of cliffs, so bored of the same trails, seal bays, crab pools, gatherings. Day to day life had become somewhat of a chore. 

"So ya decided ta come to tha north, eh," she grimaced, as one skinny black paw broke through yet another thin sheet of ice into a depressing little puddle of cold water. She gritted her teeth and pulled it out with a squelch. Snow was a lot harder to traverse than any beach she'd come across. Absolute menace. Stupid white stuff. 

So it comes to nobody's surprise when, after crossing not even a quarter of the floodlands, Mavis stood frozen and soaked and looking very sorry for herself on a tiny tuft of un-snowed grass. This was dope.