Kekea
Legacy Name: Kekea

Hrimm Yoff is a nation far to the north, split between forest and hills, all hardy and frostbitten. The Hrimm is known for being unforgiving toward those that come into it unprepared, but to those who have made their lives here, the Hrimm lends its hidden bounties and warmth.

In the western forests, the fjath, birdfolk, make their home. Seen by outsiders as secretive tricksters, these feathered, shapeshifting people face hardship trying to integrate themselves in the mainstream culture of Hrimm Yoff. To make things worse, a specific clan of the fjath, the fjathnattr, lost part of their royal family many years ago to the wilds.

White snow was falling. White snow shouldn't have been falling.

August trudged through it anyway, keenly aware it shouldn't be there. He knew the trail even though it was getting harder to see it.

Some of the trees still had their orange leaves on them, contrasting with the evergreen of the pines and the wrong-white of the snow. It should know better. The tall feather horns on his head were pulled down, but the rest of them were all stuck out in a very poofy sort of way. It kept the warmth in, even if it looked a little ridiculous, with this aura of dark brown tipped with caught snowflakes all around him.

His bow was slung across his back, quiver at his hip, a few scraggly rabbits strung up on his pack. One was relatively untouched, a single arrow wound through it, but the other had several talon marks along it.

August's eyes were tuned for the dark: big, obnoxiously big, with wide pupils slowly constricting in the rising dawn light. This was, even if it wasn't supposed to be, a particularly pretty looking time for it to be snowing. Pink light caught on the flakes and the few puddles of white that were already accumulating at the bases of trees and grasses. Everything sounded muffled, even to his ears, with the night shift giving way to the day.

So he was distracted, turning his head this way and that, a mixture of instinctive vigilance and a desire to take in the quiet autumn morning. Even snowfall come far too early (too early! a bad winter coming) could be beautiful in the moment.

But he knew the trail.

Picking his way over and through forest debris, crunching through newly fallen snow and old-ly fallen leaves, August marched his way back home. He was looking forward to the warm hearth, the quiet task of cleaning his catch. Maybe he'd ask his daughter to do one of them with him, just to make sure she remembered how from the last time he taught her. She was young, but it was never too early.

By the time he reached the fence around his small cabin, the snow was really starting to come down. The morning light had turned from pink to yellow to white, and now the snow looked much starker. Taking one look behind him into the blanching forest, his feathers twitched in a worried way before he stepped into the yard.

The yard was half-tended. It was a clearing with a shelterbelt of pines and shrubbery around it, with tall grass inside the fence. The fence was wide enough to encircle the main house and several small out buildings, including a small stable. His hlaupdeer lazily turned its head to look at him from inside, idly chewing beneath curved, caribou-like horns.

He was so busy thinking about the snow he neglected to notice the fresh tracks leading to and from his doorstep.

"Avery!" He pushed open the door, calling for his daughter, expecting a quick 'hello' in response. He shrugged his effects off, running a hand through his feathers to get the snow off before it melted.

"Avery?" He checked her bed, and not finding her there, began to get a little worried. He opened the front door back up, calling again, and when no response came he started getting a little worried. The feathers standing up began to resemble less a winter coat and more a bottlebrush, frightened cat.

Nothing had been out of their routine, he'd gone out for the night hunting and told her to stay in the house, everything locked, and to keep alert. Now, he knew she probably didn't do all that, but there was no one for miles and no animal was going to get in the door. She must have wandered away. She must have gotten it in her head that was this was okay to do and done it, and he had to get her back before something bad happened because if she had done that then something bad will definitely happen and he just couldn't have that happen and-

He was on his way back out of the door when something crinkled under his foot. A letter, immaculately sealed and clean except for the footprint now on it. The creamy smooth off-white of expensive paper. He squinted.

It started with "Dear August" and ended with "Love, Mom and Dad". He didn't really catch the specifics of whatever was in the middle, except that they had his daughter and were playing this off as something he would find acceptable. He was mumbling various curses under his breath, starting to scramble out of coat and gear he'd been getting back into just a moment ago.

His parents were fine enough, and Avery liked her grandparents well enough, which was fine. That was fine. But they had strict rules about who saw her when. August didn't trust their posh, nontraditional way of living. And he didn't trust them now. He'd set out to raise her to be a true, heartfelt fjath.

Like him.

The feathers of his cloak spread down his skin, the wings wrapping over his arms and his whole body shrinking in a flurry of brown and cream and white. An owl flew out the open door, through the heavily falling snow in the crisp early light.

Kekea'Aakan was flying again.