Law of the Land

The snow hangs heavily in the air, settling on the trees in thick, heavy clumps before sifting through the needles to carpet the forest floor. The setting sun casts its long shadows across the midday, the last brief light of Sunfade before the darkness of Iceturn begins its relentless grip.   A lone figure trudges through the untamed wilds, carefully navigating around snowbanks and trees, their recent footsteps the only obvious marks in the relentless snow. Periodically they stop as if lost in thought, tail twitching contemplatively, dark brown cloak pulled tightly around their burly frame, gaze focused intently on some detail of the forest only they can see. The snow falls, silently, coating the hood of their cloak and the back of their hunched shoulders before the figure shakes it off and moves forward again, their former tracks now buried in fresh snowfall.   Shuffle, stop. Shuffle, stop.   The figure halts and lightly sniffs the air, cocking their ears slightly, listening. A quick smile forms on their calloused lips, stretching through stiff white whiskers. They let out a friendly whistle, its shrill shriek somehow muffled by the surrounding snow, before reaching a pair of frozen claws into their bearded mane to comb through the frozen chunks of ice matting the graying hairs.   A snow squirrel emerges cautiously from a nearby evergreen, drawn by the whistle, its white bushy tail twitching nervously as it lets out an inquisitive chatter of teeth. An acorn emerges from the katanoj's beard, two calloused fingers holding the tasty morsel temptingly towards the creature. A peace offering.   The squirrel eyes the gift warily before greed takes over, small white paws quickly propelling the hungry squirrel towards its prize. The katanoj quickly wraps their claws around the acorn, eliciting angry chatter from the small white mammal and a resolute series of clicks from the sapient cat in return. The squirrel pauses to listen before returning its own chatter in reply, dancing impatiently across the trunk of the tree.   Satisfied with the information provided the Game Warden casually tosses the acorn, the snow squirrel easily snatching the treat from the air before retreating to higher ground to devour its prize. Both exchange a set of thankful clicks before parting ways, one consuming its reward while the other returns to tracking their quarry. A quick spell to warm the blood and fight the chill and the katanoj continues, footfalls light in the heavy snow, closing in on their carefully stalked prey. There would be no more exploiting the Winterwood Forest for these poachers.   The natural balance must be kept, the laws of the land enforced. Such is the way of the Warden.