Ruby looked forward to spring but less so winter; spring would be a good time, she supposed, to finally introduce herself (well, formally at least) to the heirs of Iromar. She had intended to do so earlier but when she had watched them, she had decided against it - it made her recall Itchy Ears and her siblings and just how terrible and nonsensical children could truly be. She had little patience for it and so she had turned her attention elsewhere until a more suitable time presented itself. And that time would be spring! As for winter? Its mere arrival disgruntled her, and she dared not think of true winter lest she summon it to their borders any faster.

With winter came rain before the snow, and the rain had settled into a steady drizzle over Iromar. Marsh met winter and a haze of mist curled up from the bogs and pools to meet the grey clouds that hung overhead - sometimes she wondered if they were low enough to touch if she dared climb a tree or find some grand stone to stand atop. If they were, she'd likely reach up just to rip them apart so that she might at least enjoy one good day of sunshine before the snows came. It made her sigh and huff, a puff of her own mist kissing the air on her exhale. She ought to be thankful, she supposed, that winter was but one of four seasons - some places, or so she had heard, had only winter.

But the inaction such drizzle caused made her restless. For so long had she been doing little more than dashing from shelter to shelter or hiding away that she had her doubts about whether her legs worked at all anymore. She could hardly have that! She hated the restlessness even more than she hated the feeling of wet fur against skin or cold water at her feet and so she had dragged herself out from her warm prison of a den and out into the world once again.

She rose slowly at first, her legs stretching out beneath her and then in front of her. She stretched this way and that and then glanced to the sky suspiciously - it was daytime, at least, but night could creep upon her with little warning. The days often moved from blackness to greyness and then blackness again - time meant little in the early days of Iromar's winter.

As she took off across the boggy pack, she squelched through thick mud and ploughed through tall, green reeds, a clear path behind her where few paths had been made in days. Within only moments, her legs were half-mud, a realization that made her roll her eyes. Well, there wasn't anything she could do about it and she had committed to her folly. What else could she do but continue onwards through the mud and rain and towards the borders? Perhaps she'd at least be rewarded for her efforts with some poor beast that had been washed downstream or trapped. At least then she'd be able to disguise the mud with some blood, no?