Herbalists' Cache westward leading, still proceeding

Although Radcliffe, at seven months old, was nearly at his adult size, Moorhen was still larger. She helped him to gather up all his gangly puppy limbs and laid down, her body shielding him from the worst of the wind and her thick fur settling over the places they were smooshed together like a warm blanket. The snow, she knew, would do the rest. As soon as they had a decent layer of snow over them, the wind wouldn't bite quite so much, and it would be like being in their own little igloo with two wolf-sized furnaces to warm it.

"We will warm soon," she assured him. "Naame? I im Moorhen."