He keeps his eyes closed. The longer that he keeps them shut, the longer he can keep the world out, remain in the embrace of his memories of the world that he used to know. His heart thrums steadily in his chest, the den floor cold underneath his prone ribcage. It is still dark - the cave mouth is too small to let any light in, if there were any light here in one of the deepest parts of the Forest - the silence a dull roar in his ears. He is sure he can hear the lilting whisper of Nera’s voice, but every time he tries to focus on it and find the source, it eludes him.

A sharp jab in the softest part of his underbelly pulls him out of his fitful slumber. Two small badger kits jostle for the warmest spot, tucked up near his flanks, their mother dozing blissfully behind his withers. He does not know how long he simply stares into the darkness, raising and shifting only his head when his prone position grows uncomfortable, reluctant to disturb the eclectic mix of bodies surrounding him. They flock to him most often when he is himself, even more so now in the belly of winter. He had not understood it, not at first when he and Niklas and Salomea had crossed back over, but Beqanna had changed so many times in his (relatively) long life he had soon adjusted well enough. Now … now, he well understands the power that he still possesses. His magicks had changed, but he is no less than he was before.

Immortal as he is, he feels more physically able when he eats, and his growling stomach is the catalyst that finally spurs him to his feet. The walls of the narrow cave practically glow with warmth from the many sleeping bodies that he extricates himself from. Predator and prey alike had sought asylum from last night’s storm. He steps over the stiffened carcass of one of the casualties that are an inevitability of such a gathering, brushing along the rabbit’s disemboweled side. It knits together in his wake and the little brown creature yawns and stretches before tucking in alongside a young doe, the pain of its death forgotten already. 

The snow is piled nearly as high as the cave mouth. The sky is only just beginning to lighten, a deep blue-gray light creeping in amongst the pines and naked deciduous trees. Yawning, he bows and stretches before shaking the last wrinkles of pseudo-hibernation from his hide. A raven squawks at him from up above his head, circling the clearing in loud, erratic loops. He regards the creature for a moment or two, head cocked to the side, one golden eye tracking the bird’s lazy course. Ravens are wicked intelligent; distracted easily and quite noisy, so not particularly helpful in matters of stealth, but the carrion-birds have a penchant for finding the dead - and those associated with the dead. This shiny, raucous creature had found Niklas for him.

Like a mountain goat skipping across a rock face, he moves closer to the more populated area of the Forest. The snow is chest high in some places and by the time he reaches one of his favorite grazing spots, his muscles are warm and ice crystals accentuate his brows, muzzle, and chest. It’s so cold the snow has crystallized, making it easy enough to dig through to the grass underneath. The change in the air is so subtle that he does not notice it at first, preoccupied as he is with eating his fill.