(OOC: Setting this in winter even though it's spring because holidays get in the way of things!!)

Ah, I have watched the slow grip of winter take ahold of Glorall's shores; though the cold is fierce, there are few things in this world that can truly tame the sea. Yet eventually it succumbs. Slowly but surely the stirring slows, the ice thickening each day until the passage from mainland to island is but solid, snow dusted - unusual, really. It is not every year that the ice forms and so, perhaps I am a little excited at the prospect as I investigate it - for several days, in fact. Each day, I move across the ice, curious and careful paws until I am sure it is safe. Safe for Nari. Safe for the children she bore. It is only then that I call for them.

The morning is still young when I linger outside the den, issuing down a call for the youngest and then another into the air for the older blood. Perhaps even mother will become curious enough to venture forth to the shore, hm? In any case, I let my intentions be known but I do not linger long - I am off along the path within moments. I cut a path through the trees and snow before I find myself on the rocky outcrops that lead to the ice flow - it is there that I wait, overlooking the frozen path towards the island. It is not so far but it is surely a sight; the white and blue of the ice cutting along the deep, still waters of the channel. One can see the snow whipped into flurries along the ice, bare patches almost seeming to reflect the grey of the sky above.