Sawtooth Spire wolkenbruch

ewiger schnee.
it raced in tight whorls, tiny eddies; it played with the edges of the man's proud ruff and tugged at his chinfur, long now for the season, but growing into a permanent cascade that curled tightly into the pelt of his chest. mahler was ageing, and for the first winter, the former general had begun to feel its bite.
dismayed, he forced himself into a run, to prove to the treacherous thoughts that his spryness was retained. flat muscles, hard from years of work and roaming, did not protest, and mahler was relieved.
the gargoyle cut a long lope upon the spiraling ridge upward, tongue lolling as he narrowed his eyes against the pale fray and thought of @Nyx.