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Snow. Within hours of its apparition it was no longer a source of childlike wonder for him. What had started off as a magical experience (he'd not paid witness to it much in the past and was at first stricken by excitement by the blanched flakes) had almost immediately become a tiresome, loathsome rendering of a winter storm. It sank into the nooks and crannies of his body - all the little bits and pieces that were not yet rendered numb - and he heaved himself with a shudder that sprayed a lustrous white halo about him in an effort to forsake its chilled grip. Ash was all in all miserable in that moment, wishing for the comforts of a home that did not strike his flanks with arctic wind, and he turned his eyes skyward to watch the gray and listless clouds shift. They spewed more snow, albeit more slowly than before, in what was hardly a pause from the last flurry and he looked down again...squinting sunlit eyes to discern a coupling of trees that'd not already been overwhelmed by the inclement weather.
His sheltering beneath them was a welcome respite. A drizzle of the frozen precipitation occasionally drifted between the cracks among the twisted canopy as each branch creaked and shifted at the rise of whistling mistrals but it was of no concern to him. The pallid yearling sighed and reclined back on his haunches; he huddled near the gnarled bones of exposed roots and settled until his limbs were securely fastened beneath the weight of his torso to gather heat that'd been precariously lost in his brief jaunt. He decided then and there that he was going nowhere fast and decisively tucked himself in the little makeshift bed of roots and earth...determined that he might find himself in better weather if only he'd nap for just a bit.