Flycatcher Downs kessler syndrome

@Evien hi!

 

Of all the shit the sky could throw at him, sleet had to be one of Lars' least favourite. While rain was cooling and snow was soft and pillowy, sleet was the perpetually half-drunk uncle that was both harsh with words and just made everything miserable.
 
With a shudder and gravelly sigh, the inky prince left the temporary safety of the small copse and set off at a brusque canter across the open meadow, his eyes set on the smudgy forest in the distance. He'd be sure to find some sort of a den there. While his paws set a steady rhythm, his mind wondered back to his mother, how he used to steal her dens as they always used to be the cosiest, her warm smile, her scolding when he'd miss a rabbit for the third time. Her terrified eyes when she ran and left him all by himself. If anyone had asked, Lars would deny and say he left Mount Haku with a heart of hatred for his mother and his kin. In reality he had searched for her, had refused to leave the foothills for days but alas, he never saw her again. Oh well, not like he needed her anyway.
 
Lars paused at a boulder for a short breather, panting and shaking his pelt out in a futile attempt to dispel the frigid moisture and surveyed the stretch of fells between him and the forest. At this pace it wouldn't be long before he could curl up and sleep the day away.