No longer could Eirian deny the onset of winter and the dying days of Autumn's last breath. The once fiery painting of molting topiary still strong enough to evade joining their fallen brethren now cast into a world where the icy shades of ivory and dull greys reigned supreme. Only the hardiest of vegetation still clinging to what leaves remained on their twig thin branches. Today was no exception as the rays of afternoon sunlight that should have been present to glisten off the freshest of fallen snow appeared void, a freezing fog with equally cold temperatures encasing the land below shoulder height in a blanket of thin white.
The current weather, though, would not deter the Asurn brute from his task at hand. Another loop around the pack's perimeter to ensure no hooligans, or another desperate thief attempted to sneak over into claimed lands unnoticed for an unearned bite to scarf down. The rare inhale of that swarthy whelp's fading scent near their border to this day still infuriated the dark agouti man, but that troublesome wolf was no longer a threat to Broken Timber Pines if their chase had left any impression at all. The Pines wolves were not to be trifled with.
Citrus optics passed over the snow dusted silhouettes of the fallen redwoods and cedars Eirian could manage to see through the fog, a shake of his mighty skull warranting the departure of hitch hiking ice crystals that steadily collected along the tips of his hairs lining that of his shoulders and ridge of his snout with each stride forward. A constant plume of vapor resonated on the air from flared nostrils as Eirian created a low toned bombinate sound in his throat to pass the time, each passed marker refreshed with a new addition from the man's musky odor by rubbing a flank against the various trunks. Small tufts of shed winter coat remaining behind as proof he had traversed by.
Now, Eirian was a wolf in a love hate relaiontship with the cold. He despised the way the snow squished between his toes with each step, like now, and the way the trees liked to use his bulked up frame as target practice. A clump of gathered snow always managing to fall square on his head when he least expected it. Today was no exception as he took another step forward along the borders, a soft splat sounding as a pile of snow slid off the weighed down branch of a firmly standing redwood above right atop his skull. "Son of --!" He exclaimed loudly with a jump as his paws ceased motion, vigorously shaking his pelt to rid the snow flurries. Not again.