King Elk Forest Wintertide Jubilee, the first.

Calhoun had not been the first to wake, though that was not particularly unusual. What was unusual was the song that rose him from his slumber, a joyous call met with urgency. The Baron let out a wide yawn, his foreleg rubbing at the bridge of his nose as a plume of breath escaped him. Temperatures sure had dropped since they settled within the elken forest and any day now winter would creep around the corner to steal what little warmth was left behind so the world may rest and renew in the next year.

Dragging himself from the spot where he slumbered, Calhoun clambered out of the Exalted Grotto. Despite the death of the internal vegetation, the wide underground denning seemed to hold comfy thanks to the bodies of his family. It wasn't until Calhoun made it outside that he saw the reason for Celnes' call. The air was littered with flecks of cold white, a sign that winter was in fact now here. As one of Kingslend's hunters, it meant more work for the future, but for today it was indeed a celebration.

The Baron tipped his head back, calling for those who had already left for the day and those who still slumbered below to follow the call of their King. A festival was to be had, and tonight, a hunt. It was the one day in the year where the High Elk allowed his followers to hunt the apostles, an exciting day indeed.