Two days later, towards the far east, north of the mountainous range, Altair and Reina huddled together as the icy winds billowed against their bear bodies. As if shards of ice danced along their bare flesh, Altair felt his crack and blister as more time passed.
"It's getting colder." He said with a smile. He'd love the snow. The Winters on Earth had always been a magical time. From the sweet honey milk, his Mother made for him to the songs that always seemed to bring a smile to his face. Even the cold, unfeely men of the Aros estate would find smiles during this time, warming the barren halls of the estate.
Winter had been Altair's favorite time of the year. And it had remained so even today, as his eyes burned. The Snow was always peaceful, unlike the heat that made his blood boil and his body wet. But the cold. The cold was silent like death and peaceful like a calming dream; it was the lullaby of darkness his Mother often sung to him.
