Gyrfalcon's Keep and when the weeds begin to grow

At last, springtime was yawning awake and the daylight hours were starting to creep above freezing temperatures. But only just so. Exousia cared little for the burgeoning of new growth, the chorus of fresh young birds, and the weeks of snowmelt and rainfall to come. Her preferred seasons were the crisp quieting of fall and the dead of winter, where only the strongest prevailed.

Now was the time for the weak and soft. The dainty and bright. Then it would be summer, oppressively warm and cloudless. Months of suffering lay ahead. The thought alone was enough to make her sour.

A cacophony of screeching prey-birds sounded overhead, and the scents of a few wolves gathered underfoot. Exousia picked up her pace, eager to escape encounters with both.