@mambo-by-a-mile answered:
Mambo violently shivered while a flurry of snow blew in front of his face, his vison past his nose clouded to the point he could no longer determine what was more than half a foot in front of him any longer. The freezing wind blew his fur and ears back and forth until it felt like icicles were hanging from his cheek tufts and ear tips, and he had to grab his hat to keep it from flying off his head. Had clutched in his grasp, he wrapped his arms around his chest and rubbed his shoulders in a pathetic attempt to provide any amount of warmth to his small body.
When the cat creature took off from the castle in a huff after yet another, but more heated argument with Munk for some time to himself he had not thought about the already cold weather, the snow that had already begun to fall, nor the direction he was going. He had just wanted to be as far away from his duties, job, the boss's scolding, and Munk's nagging as possible. Now, feeling the deep, cold snow near up to his waist as he numbly trudged through it with chattering teeth, he berated himself for being moronic enough to stray over the two usually grassy mountains now surely covered in thick white snow and terrain that had become a snowfield behind the palace to the forest beyond that in which he scarcely knew the way back out, and even more moronic to start the trek back only when the snow began to fall in flurries, the wind became icier against his fur, and the sun had long started to drop from the sky to welcome a dark snowy night.
He could only imagine the fuss Munk was going to make when he came back late past moonrise, clothes dripping wet from the snow that would melt on them, fur just as wet and soggy. He never thought he would think this, but right at that moment he would give anything to be back in the boring old top tower room doing his extra chores he had been given as punishment for nearly putting another story in jeopardy by messing with the scales and have the uptight pig creature nag at him again, all of it happening in warmth as opposed to bein out in the freezing cold trying to keep himself from turning into a purple icicle. He was headed in the right direction, wasn't he? The snow came down so much it was hard to see anything more than a foot around him. The snow was hard enough to walk through, but now he felt his feet going numb. His fingers and hands began to hurt from the frost as he desperately rubbed them against his arms and shoulders while they wrapped around each other in a futile attempt to warm himself up even an ounce, the cold dampness of his wet snow-covered sleeves like ice against his fur.
'C'mon, Stupid. Keep Going.' Mambo desperately told himself. It couldn't be far now. He had gone around one mountain now. Only one more and the palace would be in sight. Dang, did he wish he had already learned a teleportation spell of some kind so he could be back in the top room at that moment. Maybe he should just find some shelter for the night... no, he didn't need the extra prodding from Munk or the boss as to where he had been... but dang was it ever cold...so cold... the cat creature felt his legs give out beneath him from stiffness that could not carry him any further. He stopped his fall with one hand, trying to pull himself back up again. When he got back he would laugh about this entire thing...Munk would call him an idiot sure but he would just tease the pig right back...the palace was just over the next mountain right...it was admittedly hard to think due to how cold he was. What was it called when your body became so cold and you began to freeze? Hyperthermia was it? No he couldn't get that...what happened though?...the mind begins giving our is it... the thought was enough to force Mambo to heave himself up and attempt to move forward once more. He only got three or four steps in before his legs gave out beneath him entirely, causing him to collapse in the snow.
As the thick white frozen rain seeped into his already cold fur and clothes, Mambo could only think of how nice it would be to be back in the top tower room doing all the things he always complained about doing. Laying on the green cushion he usually made himself comfy on while chastising each tale with Munk rolling his eyes a few feet away from him and telling him to stop 'editorializing'. Hot cocoa would be even nicer...and some sleep. He grabbed some packing snow behind him and pulled it over him, picturing it was a blanket of some sort. He then pulled his hat from in front of him in his nearly frostbitten hands to underneath his cheek, using it as a pillow. Maybe the snow would stop soon...he could go back then...he would go back...the boss and Munk would of course start to wonder where he was. He felt his eyes begin to flutter...crap, you weren't supposed to go to sleep when you were freezing, were you?...'stupid, stay awake, stay awake...'
Bruce had saved an ample amount of coin to upgrade his normal attire to the wintery season. Wool pants and a wide-cut shirt covered his skin from the cold. A leather vest with a fur trim kept his neck warm. While the amount of villagers, much less merchants, willing to interact with a Troll was slim, there existed just enough of leatherworkers, tailors, and furriers to patch together an outfit to last a good few seasons. In fact, currently Bruce had been traveling for a few hours back from the weaver, with a finished pair of fingerless gloves. Each glove could have fully clothed an average human as a sweater; Bruce made sure to pay amply for the worker’s time and supplies.
Even if the blizzard should have halted most carriages and riders, the Troll had no trouble traversing the road in such conditions. The thick skin on Bruce’s back and hide protected him from the elements too severe for humans. That said, he eagerly looked forward to returning to his cave.
The sudden change in air current blew a flurry of stinging ice into his face, and Bruce braced against the wind. Wait! The Troll halted suddenly as the wind died down for a moment. The chilled wind carried a familiar scent. Bruce squinted his beady eyes at the surface of the snow and the soft imprint of footprints, smaller than humans, materialized against the falling snowflakes.
Barely waiting to think it through, Bruce quickly followed the prints even as the wind diverted again and the scent disappeared. And the footprints stopped.
They just ended. No further footprints scattered forward in the path. Dread suddenly dropped in Bruce’s stomach and a giant clawed hand reached out to brush the layer away from a disheveled pile of snow. Colorful fur peaked beneath the clumps of ice. Quickly, the Troll’s claws dipped beneath the buried feline, scooping Mambo out of the frigid snow.
“What’re ye doin’ out ‘ere, mate?” Bruce exclaimed, cupping his friend in both of his hands. Mambo’s clothes were soaked with cold water from the burial-- however long he had been beneath the snow. The Troll didn’t wait for a answer before he opened his vest. Taking care to keep the warmer fur-lined areas of the garment facing the feline, Bruce gently held Mambo at his chest, between his shirt and vest. He felt icy and lifeless against Bruce’s skin. Anxiety quickened the Troll’s breath.
They weren’t too far from his cave. Bruce stepped forward, trying to focus on taking one step at a time in the blanket of frigid white. He couldn’t see the horizon. White covered the sky and the ground beneath him. He needed to keep moving forward. A brim of shadow peaked over the hill. The forest! They were close!
Even with Mambo nestled against his shirt, Bruce didn’t move his hand from him. He needed some sort of sign that his friend was still alive. “Hey. Hey, Mambo. Mate, you ‘wake?” He pleaded, and softly jostled the curled up mass behind his vest. “C’mon, mate. Please.”
