Dawn crept up chilly from behind the hills, while Juniper stayed by himself atop the old tower’s worn rock - leftover ruins from battles fought ages ago. Wings stretched out slow into the dim haze before sunrise, thin skin pulled tight across fine bones that grabbed hold of the first pale glow. He cleaned them like always, brushing his snout down every beam, checking for rips or soft spots. The skin felt paper-fine but strong, oddly colder now than it did just one day earlier. Every joint tapped low when he bent and tucked, a routine as steady as breath, keeping him real after long dark hours flying guard duty, giving orders, staying alert. The air felt odd. Crisper. With a metallic bite he didn’t recognize - enough to twitch his nose, make each puff of breath last just a second more than normal. He’d marched troops under scorching dunes and steaming rainforest thickets, won battles where fumes smothered the sun - yet this slow frost? Unfamiliar. Started in his ears, pinning them tight against his skull. Then his snout came into play, tiny hairs standing on end. Underfoot, the rock no longer held daylight warmth; instead, it pulled warmth from his hoof pads, sending a dull throb rising through the lower leg bones, forcing him to sway, uneasy. Quiet settled in the valley like water filling a bowl. Not a chirp from birds. Not even leaves trembling under tiny feet. The breeze dropped to almost nothing, soft as a secret. Juniper’s tail twitched - once, then again - the tip sharpened with bone breaking the calm. Memories flashed of war fields right after fighting stopped, that odd silence before moans rose up... but this? This felt light. Waiting. The sky lost its golden glow, shifting toward gray tones - dull, thick, pressing down. He sniffed once more: damp soil, cold bite, then a hint of what? A presence. Just out of sight. His shadow gazed up from water pooled in the rock’s deep crack - dark-silver fur, light-colored wings, irises holding centuries of battles won and lost. Called Juniper the Warlord. Known as Juniper the Brave. Once nicknamed the Blabberer by troops, behind his back only. Victory had coddled him; fame made him reckless, endless in chasing triumphs. Yet now, rooted under this odd, icy morning sky, he seemed tiny. Wondering. The fighter inside noticed things had changed - like the game itself shifted. His ears stood up, alert. No matter what approached, he aimed to witness it, grasp it, pass it on. The cold dipped once more, so Juniper’s coat twitched with sudden shakes. Wings tucked tight, bringing some heat from that tough skin right up to his chest, yet he faced the open field anyway. Underfoot, the grass snapped - frozen stiff, every strand glazed in sharp ice. Out came his breath, heavy and pale. Above, the sky loomed low - cold iron forged flat, dull and heavy with what’s coming. A shift hung in the air. An event unseen by him until now. Warrior reflexes clashed with wide-eyed curiosity inside his ribs. Juniper left the tower ledge behind, moving slowly through frostbitten grass toward Veilheim field when snow started drifting down. The first ice speck brushed his snout, chill so soft it seemed to sigh. Yet another landed on the fuzzy edge of his left ear, vanishing fast into a dot of damp. Juniper halted halfway onto Veilheim’s open field, his light bat wings pulled close along his sides, then lifted his head up. Overhead, the dark cloud cover split wide, dropping countless - really, endless - little white flakes that flipped and danced in the sharp breeze, every one drifting down slow in its own twisty line. He'd never come across a winter quite like this - hadn't even known real snow before. The snow fell all around: tiny chills on his lashes, making him flicker his eyes fast - odd, kinda itchy. It snagged in the thick fur of his dark-gray pelt, hanging like little sparkles till warmth turned them to wet drops seeping down to his hide. Over his wings? Not the same - the tough skin didn’t warm quick, so flakes piled up where arm joined torso, nestling in the thin stretch between his wing fingers. He felt every bit, each one feather-light yet stacking faster now, a quiet chill tugging at his muscles, keeping them tense. The air felt different now. The sharp smell of frozen grass had vanished. With every breath came a gentler freshness - like icy rain mixed with open space, slightly sharp, just a hint sugary. As Juniper pulled air in through his nose, the chill bit into tender spots, zinging gently behind his forehead. His breath came out heavy, foggy - like little clouds popping up then fading fast into the haze. Cold crept in slow; he felt it tugging at his muscles, making them stiff, sending shakes down his back and legs. But he stayed still. Just stuck there. The world felt unfamiliar now. Ahead, the field looked like it was changing right before his eyes - winter’s dull grass slowly vanishing under fresh snowfall. Trees in the distance began to fade, outlines smudging as flakes clung to limbs and leaves alike. Faraway houses wore shiny coats of frost, their usual shapes altered, almost dreamlike. The noise hit him hardest - not total quiet, yet almost there. Yet a faint murmur as countless snowflakes landed on turf, on rock, even on his skin. Or maybe like the earth exhaling slow and steady. Nothing resembled war here - instead of clanging swords, galloping horses, cries from winning or losing sides. Rather calm. Steady. Unstoppable. A wild heat surged inside him, starting way down in his ribs where arrogance used to rule. Long ago, Juniper led armies through empty lands and dark woods - people whispered his name like it carried lightning. Brash, bold, never quiet, he didn’t care about soft beds or warm fires; what mattered was land taken and foes crushed. Yet now, snow piling in the dip of his neck, seeing each puff of air turn brittle before vanishing, he sensed something beyond borders - a world you don’t take, just step into. Accept. His spiked tail stayed frozen. His ears - normally twitching at each little noise - just stayed stiff, aimed ahead, locked in. Just this once, during his noisy, endless years, Juniper, the talkative one, kept quiet. He simply stayed put - snow landing on his shoulders, yet a shift stirring deep inside, as if frozen ground splitting under early sun. Yet the amazement seemed lacking. Empty, kind of. He saw a flake drift slowly, touch his front leg, then wondered: Dakota’d enjoy this. That idea came outta nowhere, gentle like falling snow. Every stretch of land he took, every fight he crushed - did any of it matter much if nobody stood near to watch winter turn everything into something breathtaking? His chest felt tight, full of want. Just hearing Dakota’s happy laugh would’ve helped - something about it always lifted him up. Cordovi’s quiet smirk used to tell him everything without words, like she saw right through his act. Then there was Pink Cashmere, solid beside him, keeping things real when thoughts got too loud. Snow still drifted down, slow and soft, each one different, fragile. Suddenly, Juniper got it - not just seeing wonder, but passing it on. He remembered - The thought popped up outta nowhere - he was back in the other realm, way before, just as winter started hinting around. Snowflakes stuck to the corners of his eyes when he woke. His tail - sharp at the end - twitched as he stretched, then sniffed the wind, checking for familiar signs. They’d gotta see this, he thought. Light on his feet now, Juniper charged over frozen tufts, each hoofbeat sharp like a shout in the quiet.