Deepwood Weald Little weasels with tails of white

Winter was coming. The first snowfall had already begun. It had left cold and a little bit of pain in its wake as you drew the air into your lungs. Rodyn didn't mind overly much, his winter pelt had grown in nicely and he had a warm place to lay his head at night. And he was back where he liked to be, the wolves he liked to be around.

Rodyn felt that sixth sense of someone coming and he lifted his head to look around. The bloody ermine hung from his shoulders. The voice that met his ears, brought a smile to his jawline and he wuffed in return.

Why hello Heph!

His tail wagged and he stood waiting or her to make it to his side. I'm hunting ermine today, already caught two. A snack for you and I. Maybe more if we can roust them.