Swifttail had been lingering at the Frost Faire for quite a while already, and for once that felt like a luxury rather than a failing.
The weight of coins in his pocket was unfamiliar but reassuring, a gentle clink when he shifted his stance, proof that this evening belonged to him. He’d already eaten well. Too well, if he was honest. Something hot and rich from a stall near the river, followed by some much needed indulgence in sweetbread that still clung pleasantly to his tongue. He tugged his new scarf a little higher around his neck, his new mittens keeping his paws pleasantly warm and dry. It was strange, in the nicest way, to be wearing proper winter clothes again.
Plus, there was no engine room. No watch. No forge waiting for him with its familiar heat.
He was finally just enjoying himself in the moment.
The snow underpaw felt right, familiar, and comforting. Swifttail breathed deep, the cold air biting cleanly at his lungs, and felt his shoulders loosen in a way they rarely did these days. Winter had always been kind to him. Iskatyut winters had been harsher, yes, but full of laughter too, of kits shrieking and scattering as snowballs flew wild and fearless across the packed drifts between the basalt cliffs and the treacherous sea. He’d learned young how to throw true, how to pack tight, how to read the wind without thinking about it.
The sound reached him before the sight.
Shouts. Laughter. The sharp thock of snow striking fur and wood alike, followed by the unmistakable cadence of someone barking orders with more enthusiasm than sense.
Swifttail’s ears twitched.
That voice.
He craned his neck, catching only glimpses at first, flashes of movement and color through the crowd. Then he saw him. Finnian, half-blurred in motion, darting and calling, disappearing again almost as soon as Swifttail had clocked him. A grin tugged at the corner of his muzzle before he could stop it.
Of course Finny was at the center of the action.
He shifted his weight, already angling closer without quite deciding to. That was when a snowball arced cleanly through the air ahead of him, sailing from the fringe of the fight and detonating squarely against Finnian’s side in a burst of white.
Swifttail stopped.
The thrower was closer than he’d thought. A ferret, stocky and loud, still mid-motion from the toss, posture loose with confidence.
Something warm and bright flared in Swifttail’s chest.
He bent, scooping snow from the riverbank with practiced ease. Packed it tightly, rolling it dense and firm between his paws. The weight felt perfect. He didn’t aim carefully. He didn’t need to. He read the distance, the angle, the rhythm of the fight, and let instinct do the rest.
The snowball left his paw in a smooth, confident arc.
It struck the ferret square in the chest, right over the heart, bursting apart in a spectacular spray that sent slush cascading down his front.
Swifttail laughed, the sound surprised out of him, sharp and delighted.
Already he was scooping more snow, heart thudding happily as he stepped fully into the fray, eyes tracking movement, body loose and ready. He didn’t know names. Didn’t know alliances beyond what he saw in front of him.
Finn was clearly targeting certain groups over others. Swifttail followed suit without a second thought.
And winter, kind as ever, welcomed him back with open paws.
@FinnianBrightfur @Griblo Jankweed @Korya
