Night was settling in on the outpost. The wind screamed through the distant peaks, creating an ethereal howling that reached the ears of the six Drow, bundled against the wintry cold, sharing the warmth of the fire.
"We're going to die out here." One of them grumbled.
"No we won't." The commanding officer pulled his cloak tighter around him, "We only need to stay here for a small while longer. We're stationed overlooking the pass for a reason. A caravan heading for Wyford should be passing through here within the week. The weather's been fairly mild, considering. We won't be out here much longer. Chin up, boys."
They stoked the fire and pushed closer to it as a gale swept past the camp, keeping the life-giving flame lit.
Their horses huddled nearby, all with their heads down to brave the harsh cold. None of them were built for this, unlike the mild-mannered, heavier breed that inhabited these mountains and the small villages therein.
The only one who didn't seem bothered by it was the icy blue and white stallion, who patrolled the area surrounding the camp slowly, head down, and nose puffing warm plumes of steam into the air as he ensured the safety of his rider and his troupe.
It had been said that he was born with ice in his veins. The cold never bothered him, and he loved the beauty of ice and snow. It reminded him of his own pelt-- the beautiful fractal curves of black against the white on his neck like shattered ice. He blended in with the scenery well enough that his rider had to look twice for him when he heard him move away.
"Frost! Come back here!"
The large stallion huffed and looked over his shoulder, emerald green eyes regarding his rider with disinterest.
"Ah, let him be. He just wants to explore." Said another of the troupe.
"What, scared you'll lose him out here on the mountain?"
"Yeah, he's really hard to see."
"Ah, don't worry. He always comes back. He'll be ready to mount up whenever." Another said, taking a sip of something warm he'd been heating by the fire.
As his rider waved him off, Frostsyne continued to explore the area in which they'd set up. The camp was situated on a cliff overlooking the mountain pass, with an easy way down onto the road below a half-mile off. He trotted off towards the thin line of trees that had been concerning him for some time. These mountains were, for the most part, fairly uncharted, and he didn't know what dangers awaited in them. He was fairly sure he could take anything that came at him, he was big, even for a Snjorrir, but he didn't wish to be caught by surprise. Slowing and lowering his nose to the snow, he huffed, searching for any concerning scents. The wind whistled past, and snow began to fall once more.
Glancing up, his brow furrowed. The snow and wind would cover any scents and tracks that could potentially clue him in. It was also getting late. He huffed one last time, looking into the darkness beyond the trees before heading back to camp to bunk down with the rest of the horses.