Lone Traveler on a Winter's Morn (Open)

[Kitsufox]

The crunch of snow under the paws of the ruddy-brown furred hare was loud in the still morning air. Winter hadn't yet stopped Clearcloud from wandering, for if he didn't drive himself to his feet the old wound in his leg ached as if it was freshly made. Each step he took crunched extra because of the sun-bleached walking stick he carried. Clearcloud stood tall as he adjusted rucksack and cloak about himself before continuing on.

He ignored the trail left behind him in the snow. It wasn't worth covering up as this was Mossflower Country and peace had reigned for some time. It made the job of a roving healer easy, when there was little healing to be done save for the normal sniffles and common injuries. It was a good thing, and one that no hare healer worth his salt would complain about. It wasn't going to be long before he had to hole up for the duration of winter somewhere, however. Too long in this weather and he's freeze his footpaws off, or frostbite the tips of his ears or something equally dreadful.

He could go north again, and go back to Aunty Summersun's warren under the pines. With a shake of his head he laid his ears back tight against his head and used his free paw to pull the cloak's hood up over his ears. Going back there when she wasn't anymore didn't seem right. Better to keep the place holed up and find somewhere else to winter over.

[Caterpillar]

# Hi, may I join in? ^^ #

Yet another traveler made his way through the snow-covered Mossflower. Against glowing white scenery this wanderer was easy to spot, as he was wearing bright green clothes, tunic and cloak. And of course a large brim hat with ruby-red plume. A lute tossed over his left shoulder and bag swaying on his side, he walked with light steps, leaving small footprints behind him. He was humming a song although you couldn't tell the words.

For the moment Steck Vennet stopped and lifted hat's rim with his thumb, gazing around in this pure whit world. He had traveled a couple of days now and had met no-other living beast so far. Rather than getting tired from travel, the bard-mouse was getting weary from lack of a refreshing encounter with another friendly beast. (He really couldn't call the encounter with crows 'friendly' as the black birds were more keen have him as supper than chat companion)
"Whiskers up Steck, you old rascal", mouse tried encouraged himself, since no-one else was around to do so. "Just keep walking and you're bound to meet up with someone eventually, you'll see..." But it really didn't sound so convincing after it had been said two or three times in same morning... Sighing Steck pressed forward. He kept on talking, since it really was the only thing he could do besides walking:
"...I really could use some company right now. Or warm soup. Either would do..." Steck climbed a top of fallen trunk, wrapped in white snow, looking around and hoping catch a sign that he - surely - wasn't the only beast in this soundless forest. But the woods stayed quiet and still, everything in deep slumber in arms of middle winter. Steck sighed again.
"I am getting rather tired of hearing only my own voice..." He jumped down into the soft snow, dusting it off, as he rose back his feet. "After those darn crows I haven't seen any-- " Steck was cut off as he sneezed loudly, wiping his running nose in his sleeve. Well, that wasn't good sign... To escape the hungry crows he had taken cover under snowy scrubs. He had to laid on the snow, motionless and shivering from the cold, for hours before the coast was clear. Maybe he should have had thought that idea twice... Catching a cold was the least thing he now wanted.

Steck took a few skipping steps as if trying out some kind of funny-looking dance, in attempt to warm himself a little. And to lift his spirit, he whistled some verses from the song he had recently started composing. It worked for a while: he felt a little better but then sharp, freezing wind blew between the snow-iced trees, forcing the bard cover as he wrapped the thick green cloak tightly around him, sheltering himself from the cold of the winter. Rotten snaketails - was the weather turning against him too?
"Fine!" Steck challenged against the wind "I wasn't in mood of singing anyway! Who in their right mind would be? In this cold even tongue would froze up and then fall off!"