Luck was not on the boy’s side. It seemed like the north just wasn’t the place for him, no matter how many times he returned. Things were bad for him up here. His experiences with rye fields, lone wolves, wildlife. He just couldn’t win. It would have made sense for him to cut his loses and return to the draw border, call for Garmir and spend a few nights protected there- but he wanted to keep exploring.
He found himself back in the forest, comforted by the familiar security of dense trees for the day. It was cold, a little damp along the floor, but noting miserable. That was- until the rain started. It seemed to come from no where, a sudden downpour. The yearling was quickly covered in it, his fur drenched, weighed down. He let out a sharp howl of annoyance, whining while he walked. There was no way to escape it. The raindrops became larger, heavier- they hurt. The droplets were quickly freezing from the cold, becoming large chunks of hail. “Oh no,” he snarled, dashing through the forest in desperate need of shelter.