Late winter upon the mountainside did not often give any hint to the promise of spring. Just as the snows came early, dusting the slopes in late autumn, they left late, only fully thawing when spring had well and truly arrived in the rest of Moladion. Those born of these lands did not mind the cold so much, though, built to endure the shifting seasonal tides. Three such wolves rested idly within a clearing, a heap of fur made up of a myriad of hues.
A pair of gray limbs stretched from the pile, toes splaying wide to show the snowshoe-like paw that made survival in this climate easier. In reality, the wolves were not heaped on top of each other, the simply lay so close to one another that if it weren't for the stark contrast of their fur it might have appeared to be one massive creature sleeping. And perhaps they were, for these brothers three were something of a unit, their connections rooted deeply since birth. Even as they approached their seventh spring the bonds remained strong, though not without their testing. They were a pack within a pack, whose loyalty to Spirane was only rivaled by their devotion to their brotherhood.
Golden eyes blinked open against the midday sun the soaked into their pelts, roused by Rhaegal's shifting and stretching. A yawn spread Viserion's jaws wide as he lifted his head from where it had rested upon his paws, nose tucked into the black and crimson fur of Drogon's side. The largest among them, Drogon had been laying in such a way as to create a wind break for his brothers, a role shared between them when they chose to rest in the sun rather than the den they shared. Rhaegal, still half asleep and laying on his back with his hind limbs stretched out and away from the pile, extended his forelegs towards the sky. Balanced on his back in such a way, Drogon had a rare moment of playfulness as he shifted his body just enough to knock his brother over onto his side.
Viserion laughed out loud as Rhaegal promptly got a face full of snow, bringing him quickly to full consciousness. Shaking his head to get his barings, he rolled over with every intention to paying his golden brother back for the action before he noticed the smug grin on Drogon's face. Gray paws pushed into his typically laconic brother's ribcage, glad to find him in an unusually good mood.
The trio remained there in the snow, not yet quite ready to fully rouse themselves and go about something more productive than simply snoozing the afternoon away in the rare warmth of the winter sun. But when they heard the light crunch of snow underfoot, signaling the approach of another wolf, all three heads lifted and turned at once, ears perking forward to identify the source.