Sunspire Mountains the hills have feelings, too

For @Reverie

It was cold! Dusty Rose liked that, but he was particular about how much snow was allowed to gather on his pelt. Read: none at all.

The coywolf picked his paws up high with each step, as if this would help him avoid the snow that he was walking through. It wasn't very high yet, but it was gathering atop the tall grasses and brushing against his chest as he traveled. With a manic kind of determination, Dusty Rose began leaping instead of walking, darting in and out of the grass like a dolphin in a wake. Every few yards, he stopped to give a mighty shake, loosening snow before it could melt into his thick undercoat. His guard hairs were beginning to lose a bit of their water resistance — he would have to stop and groom himself, soon — and the long, thick fur at his scruff was damp and quilled and frost-tipped. The tips of his ears and the pads of his toes, too, were just a little uncomfortable.

The rest of him was toasty warm.

It was a good day, he told himself firmly, even as he stopped to shake slush free of one scruffy paw. With a soft whine, he made a beeline for the shade of the trees.