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It was a perfect day. The weather was beautiful, warm but not hot on both feathers and scales. There was a slight breeze, enough to feel good against scales but not enough to ruffle feathers. The air was clean and fresh, the slight scent of salt coming in from the nearby sea. In the distance loud seagull cries filled the air, muffled by the sound of ruffling leaves in the forest. It was peaceful. It was perfect.   ...

A harsh blizzard had hit the mountains. Lost near the peaks was absolutely the last situation Nimbus wanted to be in, but there he was. Food was scarce this time of year and he had taken the chance to scale the mountain in search of food, despite feeling the minute changes in the atmosphere that hinted at an approaching blizzard. Up here, he did manage to bring down a moose as the snow started to get dangerously heavy. He rushed to gullet down most of the carcas...