December 3rd; Long after evening's descent; Overcast Clouds; 4.91 ° F, -15.05 ° C.

Winter was a ornery friend. She gripped and pushed and hounded. Serpentine fingers raked down Somnes' spine, invisible and chilling him to his core. What little sun he had managed to catch in his dark fur was gone with arrival of dusk. It would be time to settle down soon, but something beyond him told him to keep going. One black paw in front of the other. Right fore, left hind, left fore, push off with right hind... repeat.

After pushing past the tree line and into the company of sequoia trees, he stopped after some time. The scent of lavender rose from underfoot, brittle and old. Laid down into sleep from the season's turn. The wolf's nose twitched, his breath rising from him in wisps.

His eyes drew skyward. In the midst of gray and reaching branches, a rift in the storm clouds offered a stolen glance at the stars. In the black of his pupils, they twinkled. And, suddenly, all Somnes could think of was how far he was from home...

That feeling of longing tugged at his ribs. It itched and clawed at his limbs, and put him in the lingering aftermath of a chokehold. If he was to survive this winter, he knew he had to make connections - and fast. Lest Winter find herself an eternal pet and fledgling philosopher.