As a woman of over 30 turns old, some would say Ce'na was too old for romping in the snow. Ce'na said she was too old to care what uptight pricks had to say. There was snow still on the ground, thick and fluffy, in the spring. It was incredible.
Ce'na sat behind the walls of her snow fort, stacked tall and strong, with the ease of practice. Growing up with a caravan had offered lots of opportunities for valuable skills, like how to make the perfect snowball.
And now, it was time for the master touch. Ce'na frowned at her dragon, as she patted and massaged the snow.
Come on, Noath. Spread your wings for me, just a little. You're not being a very good model for my snowdragon.
She'd already made three snowflits and a snowcat, for the walls. Jaesa was sniffing at the Snow-Jaesa curiously, like a good flit, while Pierce was growling and puffing himself up in the general direction of the snow-Broonmark, as if looking for a flight.
Malavai wasn't in Ce'na's fort at all, but hovering by Noath's side, like usual, the little traitor.
The anatomy of dragons isn't substantially different than firelizards, not in a way you can capture in your...snow-sculpting, Noath observed, Are you truly confident this is the best use of your energies?
Nope! Ce'na said with a grin, eyes twinkling, Which is why it's called "fun," Bright motherforsking Noath. You should try it more often. You won't fit in my fort, but I bet you could make an epic snowball, with paws that big.