Wapun Meadow cast by their grave-beseeming ornaments

Sif stared indolently up at the sky, her dark face completely free of expression. Snow was something she remembered well from her frightening youth along the shore - mostly, she remembered the way her Auntie had shivered above her cousins, eyes shut tight against the gales that blew past them. But snow - she remembered that, too. It had not been pleasant in her childhood, and it was only slightly more tolerable as an almost-adult, her furs now thick enough to protect her from the worst of it.

Her paws were still icy cold, of course, and her nose. Even her thickly-furred ears were exposed to the elements.

Sniffling indignantly, the young shewolf carried on, trotting through the white meadow on long, sprightly legs. She needed to get out of the weather before she caught a chill, and those trees in the distance looked like as good a place as any to hole up for a few days or a few hours.