Snow was coming down in thick droves, and even though Mace longed to patrol the territory like he'd taken to doing of late, his paws carried him inward, toward the heart where the den was. The Attaya had taken to a lot of things upon settling in Cut Rock River: patrolling, sleeping outdoors, and humming senseless tunes to himself were among those. Undoubtedly it was to keep grief and negativity at bay, what with his sister's belief that their parents abandoned her heavy on his mind. With Mace, work was distraction, and distraction from what was becoming more and more undeniable was more and more necessary.
The wind had oicked so that the snow fell as a blizzard by the time he slipped into the den's warm confines. White flakes peppered his coat, too thick and insulated to melt them sufficiently. He shook them off in the dark, tilted back his ears contentedly, and blinked furiously in an attempt to adjust his eyes to the gloom. It had been days since Mace had last been in the den; he preferred the outdoors, where the babble of the creek was a poor substitute for the former sound of roaring rapids.
But it was better than the silence that pressed heavily on him underground and made his breath tight in his chest.