Permafrost Hollows locked up, naked with socks

A growl of affection rises to his throat, rumbling deep within the core of his chest when teeth come to nibble upon his forehead. The scent enough a treat for the hound, yet touch is always more rewarding.
Yet the focus drifts to the territory—remaining on unraveling the secrets it holds. It is similar to their venture in Sunbeam Lair, but perhaps this one will bear fruit.
Striding through the curtain of woodland, the trees grow scarce the further in, a plains set out before them; foothills slope in various heights with tuffs of hardened green peaking on the places the sun has touched most. A reminder that spring is ever prevalent even in the harsh wintery conditions northbound.
The areas in-between the slopes remain a haven of ice, where the shadows linger—some have boulders that stand out a heavy grey against the white. Others are barren. While Kratos focuses on these, Zephyr observes further. Ears twitch at the sound of his mate’s voice. Pale gold eyes sharpen, shifting from the taiga plains to the curved ice stacks.
Tallest among them is the earth’s fang—looming high above their heads and sticking out against the mountain’s reach. His gaze finally follows where Zephyr’s is, and he, too, spots the smudged oddity among the walls.
Let’s find out, he counters. Dark limbs rock forth, plowing through the snow towards the cavern’s entrance.