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Message: <blockquote data-quote="InVinoVeritas" data-source="post: 9816824" data-attributes="member: 41485">Wawaate rises. He stares at his gloved hands, at the feather he clutches. He thinks about the welcome he expected to receive. Of all the things he had been taught, of all the things he believe, he would never have imagined... this.There are so many people. They look nothing like his nation. But Negafook will spread his claws farther than just one nation, so surely these are his brethren?He carefully wraps his feather and stows it under his coat. He watches as the children play fascinated with the snow that arrived with him. Do they miss the cold that much here? Is there so little of winter's breath here? He sets his glove alight, a pale glow of magical light, ice blue, and feels that his connection is still there. He shakes his head. At least his body will be buried under the snow. It is an acceptable fate. But he still has his gear? It was buried with him, he supposes that makes sense. He turns to the children weaving around him. "Is this the Winter Court? Is this the afterlife?"</blockquote>