Fairspell Meadow importance to the state

there is a lull in the snow; a day found rare by the tundrian: sunny and clear though still as biting as he expects any winter day to be. it allows him the opportunity to seek out the flatlands beneath the looming watch towers of the spire though the need is purely out of own self interest. in truth, the spire was plenty self-sustaining for sagtannet; they never need leave it if they didn't wish to. the early morning of his descent from his home trickles into mid-morning when large paws touch upon the grass meadow of fairspell.

it doesn't hold half the appeal in the clutches of winter: a vast stretch of barren berry bushes and blanketed in a layer of snow. yet, even still he swears the sweet scent of wildberries remain. or perhaps, wintersbane, ready for the ouroboros to complete it's circle of chasing its own tail is ready for the coming spring. though he knows that this spring will not bring him the joy that it will bring others; that joy denied to him with the death of his wife.

the future was still uncertain, he knows and works to convince himself as he trudges thru the untarnished snows of the meadow; keen glacial gaze noting distinct hoof prints and crossing the path of their musky aroma. wintersbane keeps mental note of the herd but doesn't persue them; beside the fact that there is little need the idea of trying to haul even half of a carcass up the spire-side is not appealing.