@Lachesis @Kisla @Lilya @Inna @Lekalta
Snowmaggedon! A foot of snow has fallen overnight!
Hearthwood River, a frostbitten bull moose stumbles into your territory.
The last stretch of Aleksei's journey home was gruelling.
He had settled on the edge where Kingsfall met the Tundra to the west, where the trees were thinner and the land littered with rocks. The idea was that he would be well rested for the last leg, his return home, to greet his family and apologise for not finding Karina (the sister who wanted to remain lost, it seemed) with some semblance of energy, but fate was cruel. The skies had opened up whilst he slumbered to dump snow over the Lore once more. Where spring was once finally beginning to claw its way to the surface, it was now smothered under cold once more.
Winter just wouldn't go away easily this year, would it?
He woke up with the uncomfortable feeling of icy toes and a chilly nose. Perfect. I'm a good man, I don't deserve this, he groaned internally, rising up to his feet to shake his pelt free of snow. Of course, his guard hairs were soggy thanks to the snow that had melted due to his body heat, but at least his undercoat was dry; developing a cold now would be the cherry to a sundae that tasted like dirt, and he wasn't particularly in the mood of that.
Trudging through a foot of snow was never fun. It was even less fun when you had aching feet after weeks of travelling. At least Aleksei was almost home at this point—the cold and the numb paws would be like a distant memory after a nice, proper rest where he felt safe.
After what felt like hours of walking, he was finally starting to smell the border of Hearthwood River! Instinct told him to hustle his hoofies, to pick up the pace, and so he did, sprinting forward and burning up the last reserves of energy, his breathing laboured and heavy as he charged onwards—gods, he was not built for speed, and he felt his speed trickle away 'til he was wobbling along.
A good thing that was, because as he crossed the border of Hearthwood, he came to a sudden and clumsy halt with wide eyes, tail arching over his back and ears pricking forward. Alarm bells rang and he lowered his head, muzzle wrinkling.
A moose was stumbling along, silhouette broken by the trees, visibly limping. Something was wrong with it, that much was for certain, and Aleksei gave his lips a nervous lick as he assessed the situation. It seemed to have an old wound on its leg—cougar, perhaps—which had grown weak thanks to exposure to the cold, 'til the flesh had died and rotted away.
That, however, made it no less dangerous a threat. Were he able to see it closer, Aleksei would also be able to identify that it was no simply the visible injury that had been mangled by the cold; its eyes were nearly crusted shut, nostrils visibly dark in colour thanks to frostbite. Where had it been to be attacked by the elements so mercilessly? Had it been the sudden cold snap, the unexpected snow?
Regardless, Aleksei weighed his options. He could call his pack mates, but risk putting the beast into a frenzy, or he could leave it and hope it would find its way back out of the territory and die somewhere far from the River wolves. Did they not have the advantage, though? It was hauling a dead limb around, and judging by the laboured breathing it was also exhausted from doing so.
He made the decision and tipped his head back with a howl on his lips; moose by the border—it's weak, but we still need to deal with it. Aleksei could get his welcome homes later.