The gray furred male padded quietly through the soft, placid snow, his gait ever languid and casual. The thicket was blanketed in fresh white, and the frosted ground beneath the glaze crunched quietly under his paws as he tread forth, nonchalant and content. He wasn’t really a great lover of winter; he was raised a healer, after all. As a juvenile, he had revered the peaceful summer days when Raven would send him out of the den in search of herbs, and he could lose himself in the halcyon milieu of the meadow where marigolds and thistles grew, where sage crept low beneath the arching grasses and the white petals of coltsfoot waved blissfully in the gentle breeze. What, am I getting wistful now? He laughed softly to himself, though the sound was hollow and empty as it echoed through the quiet forest. He smiled softly as his casual gaze passed over the shredded tree trunks and gnarled roots poking bitterly out of the snow, his body quaking slightly as a particularly frigid wind whipped by.

There really was no use denying it, he supposed; he did miss the new spring growth, collecting vegetation for medicine and aid. And yet, it was the dead of winter, and nothing could be done about his longing. Not a thing could be found sprouting through the harsh winter glade, the frozen whiteness that decimated everything in its path. He supposed it was a bit of a pity that he and Eirwen hadn’t had the opportunity to store up a collection before the first snow fell; they would be in a fairly helpless position if someone became sick or injured, and that was nearly unavoidable, seeing as they were little more than a newborn pack straggling along through the cold.

Well, I guess we’ll just have to deal- His complacently pessimistic thoughts abruptly receded into oblivion as his lazy brown gaze drifted over the stripped, lifeless remnant of what appeared to be some kind of thistle poking out of the snow. He narrowed his eyes slightly before skeptically approaching, shivering all the while in the cruel winter breeze. He cautiously lowered his snout down towards the broken cadaver of the plant before taking a tentative inhale, a diminutive smirk falling on his maw as he slowly came to identify the herb. ”Well, what do you know.” He commented easily as he calmly imagined how the scraggly little thing would have looked in the spring, its dark green, fern like leaves fanning out around it and a myriad of little white flowers speckled across it. ”It’s Chervil.” The plant would have been more useful if its leaves had still been present, and they could have had something to be used for staving off infection. The roots, however, could be used to cure belly ache and other small discomforts, and though the part of the plant above the surface was entirely devoid of life, what lied below the ground was still feasible. With little else to do and no desire to hunt nor wander, the healer resigned himself to digging, his paws quickly becoming numb as he scraped through the fresh snow and frozen Earth. It was an ardent endeavor to say the least, and when he finally gripped the bitter root in his jaws, it valiantly refused to be pulled from its Earthy home. This better end up being useful. He thought as he tugged hard on the stubborn plant, a minuscule surge of triumph flashing through him as it finally broke. I wonder what else can be salvaged…