((Backdated to the day after Cry Havoc, Feb. 7th, with permission!))

Nemo

Nemo had been forced from Ursa the day of the failed charge, trailing in to the Tunnel only after he could find or hear no more in the howling winds, the winds that terrified him into the ground, the ice. He had remained at the entrance to Ursa overnight, half awake at all times and waiting out the storm, hoping against hope that he can find whomever had been left behind in the storm. The living and the half dead.

A darker part of his mind sneers at him, reminding him if he'd been faster, looked harder, maybe they wouldn't have fallen to their painful rest. Maybe if he wasn't so scared of the storm looming overhead, the winds he can occasionally, and only occasionally what a joke of a Gembound, unable to control his magic when it matters...

It's his job to find them, keep them safe from whatever Mother is. Anything else Mother might do. He'd had to ask about the worm, if they were normally that aggressive or if something else was at work, but he'd gotten no answer, so he's had only his thoughts and the eerie feeling of being watched.

A flock of sparrows, here.

A Ghostbird, gliding farther overhead than he could ever go on the winds.

A snowy rabbit, not unlike what he'd hunted all those cycles ago with Comet.

So, he trudges through the snow, hopping every so often to find some firmer drifts and ice, guessing at the direction they'd headed in the storm. The once-blue lammergeier's heart is too heavy to fly, head too full of clouds and cold to join the low-hanging sky.

So, he searches, half hoping to see the blood in the drifts, dark ice or red ice. Something.

So, he whips up a wind with a quick succession of flaps to clear a path, to clear up a search.

Nemo

A blast of snow, reminding him of some kind of fun he'd had... and making bile rise in his throat. No chrysili, no clues... nothing.

He lets out a yell and flutters himself into the air, kicking out at a drift he'd shifted before setting back down, feathers all ruffled in rage and an attempt to ward off the chill. How long could he do this? The cold, it must be worse... they must be buried, what if they freeze to death before hatching?

Is this what Giggle was talking about, when she mentioned that his hatching might be an omen? Bringing nothing but storms and disappointment to people he might care about, might call family. Wants to call family.

A sparrow gets too close, and he offers a sort of hiss, hoping to startle the Lesser away... and he lunges when it doesn't react quickly enough for his taste. Nemo doesn't grab it, no, but he just wanted to be left alone.

More snow to clear and search, more eves to ignore and avoid. Hoping that his sojourn in Ursa will not be fruitless.

A whirlwind his next idea, so he lifts off for a half a minute, and pulls at his magic almost aggressively, ignoring two of the strands within that almost burn in a way. Not with heat, with with a kind of guilt. He'd never gotten to show her...

Nemo

A cyclone kicks up underneath him, fueled by his wingbeats and cannibalizing the breezes and winds curling past, magic weaving through the air and pulling it behind like the turbulence tumbling from his wings and feathers mid-air.

Snow scattered left, right, and center, carving a divot into the fresh powder and some of the deeper snow, but of course.

Nothing is revealed.

Nothing, no one, nowhere never.

"I'm really, really starting to hate this snow." he states, with quite a bit of vitriol. There's so much to cover- he can't possibly search it all within a sane amount of time. An invisible rope from an invisible countdown clock draws tighter around his chest, chafing him in its silent reminder of what has and hasn't been done.

With that, he releases his whirlwind- it's not working, obviously. Maybe he needs a bit more punch to it.