Snowstorm

	The winds whistled cheerily on the clear afternoon, kicking up mild flurries of snow off of the banks and carrying them along the horizon. Torbern Iceclaw left a lonely trail of paw prints along the snow, carrying a deer carcass over his shoulder. His eyes were closed, as usual when trekking through snow. Sunlight reflected off of the white surface ended up paining the eyes when left open for too long. Besides, his nose could sense far more than his eyes. He stopped at the crest of a hill and took a deep breath.

	 A myriad of smells washed over him as the scent of the winterscape drifted to him. The scent of the crisp, cold air filled him with renewed vigor. He could smell the pines of the nearby forest on the air, the earthy tones of the dirt where the ground broke free of its frozen blanket. The scent of the wolves lurking in the forests had grown familiar to him, as a pack had been tracking him ever since he first picked up the deer. He had set a trap in the woods, and the wolves had caught the scent of the fresh kill before Torbern retrieved his prize. Now they followed in hopes of either an opportune moment to strike, or the chance to pick over any meat left behind after the werebear's meal.

	Normally, Torbern would have left some of his kill for them, but this deer was not for eating. Or rather, it was not for his eating. Torbern was in need of supplies, and if there was one thing that was always in demand in the cold regions of the multiverse, it was meat and fur. The werebear's research into the properties of Aether had led him to this world in search of a blue mage who was also researching the enigmatic energy on a frozen coastline rumored to be rife with volatile magics. Torbern was curious, but knew better than to Planeswalk blindly into a magic-saturated area where wizards were performing experiments. This meant taking the long way, which meant a need for supplies.

	Not that Torbern was any averse to a long journey. Indeed, he much preferred them. He was never closer to nature than trekking deep in the heart of the wilds. He had briefly considered setting a few traps for the wolves following him. Wolf pelts were also a valuable commodity, but the nature of this world had already offered him a stag and he would feel greedy to take more. Snowscapes were not known for their bountiful resources.

	The meat and fur could be sold, but if he was thrifty, he could also extract the sinew to sell as binding. He also knew that the antlers and bones could also fetch a price to the right carver or scrimshander. Yes, nature had provided him, and would sustain him, as it always had. Of course, Torbern had not always relied on it so.

	It had been some time since The Mending, years since he first felt mortal pangs resurge through his being. It had been an odd sensation, remembering hunger. Remembering fatigue. In his first years after ignition, he had come across another Planeswalker that advised him to keep mortal habits like eating and drinking, as it would help him to retain his sanity. Back then, new Planeswalkers often found the sensations of power maddening and some even became raving lunatics called Wilders. The werebear took the advice to a skeptical heart, never suspecting that those habits would pay off when he lost the lion's share of his power.

	A wandering druid in his youth, he had always relied on the wild to provide. His spark's ignition changed him into a construct of pure energy and willpower. He did not rely on the wild in those days. He relied on nothing but himself. Then The Mending had forced him back into a flesh and blood body, and once again Torbern relied on nature's bounty to provide. Many of his ilk had gone into the future kicking and screaming, gnashing their teeth at the loss of their immense power.

	Torbern accepted the change with  little more than a sigh and a growl. He had always been close to nature, and was quite at home back in his old body. It had taken some getting used to, but the werebear could honestly say he felt better as a living being than he ever had as a construct. Torbern had always felt that the mere projection of himself could never rival the feel of snow underneath flesh and blood paws. To this end, he raked the claws of his feet through the snow, leaving deep rivulets as he relished the powdery sensation between his pawpads. He never tired of that feeling.

	Nature always adapted, no matter the situation, and Torbern prided himself on being a child of nature. He had adapted to when he contracted the lycanthropic disease that caused his form to change with the moon's cycle. He had adapted when his latent potential awoke in him the raw power of the Planes. Now, he had adapted again to being a part of the next generation of Planeswalkers. He relished the smell of the winterscape a moment longer, then took a step forward and stumbled in the snow.

	Torbern cursed his wandering mind as his foot caught something hidden under the snow and the momentum of his bruin mass caused him to trip forward. He dropped the deer carcass in an effort to right himself before he toppled into the snow, and managed to regain his footing. “Gholec duul tra maach!” he shouted, hobbling on one foot.

	As a student of many languages throughout the cosmos, Torbern was of the opinion that when it came to swearing, there was no greater language than the dialect used by a Goblin race native to a Plane called Utrophis. Thinking that he had tripped on a tree root, the werebear proceeded to vent his frustration by thoroughly cursing the root's family and wishing upon it “Death that comes at the end of too many pointy bits.”

	The Utrophan Goblin language was not very creative, and no one would ever think to accuse it of possessing anything akin to grace. However, what it lacked in vocabulary, it more than made up for with guttural undertones and harsh syllables to the point where everything sounded like an insult. On Utrophis, asking “How are you?” in Goblin to someone who didn't speak the language was likely to cause a blood feud.

	As Torbern's tirade of extraplanar profanity winded down, he gave pause as something caught his eye. The outcropping that he had thought to be a root of some kind, had fingers. His expression, a narrow-eyed, growling, teeth-bearing expression of ursine fury, went slack so suddenly that an onlooker might have heard his face go 'twang!'

	Torbern approached the fingers in the snow, carefully treading lest he step on their bearers. He knelt down near them, and started digging. His massive paws easily raked aside sheets of frost as he dug around the corpse. It was a human male, face down, with one arm outstretched. Torbern took a deep breath, the fog of his exhale wafting upward with his sigh. The werebear reached over and heaved to turn the body over, breaking it free from the ice that froze it to the ground. Torbern looked the man up and down. He had been a relatively young man, with cropped short hair. His eyes were frozen shut. The werebear noticed that the man seemed ill equipped for the cold, with only a cloak for warmth. Dressed like that, and bearing no obvious wounds, Torbern had little doubt the man had frozen to death.

	The werebear shook his head, and stood up. He would consider himself a scholar, his research into the workings of the Aether were proof enough, but the werebear had always been a druid first. He could never not consider himself a druid. It was as much of an identity as his race. The wild had claimed the man for itself, but it had also brought Torbern to the body. The werebear considered this a sign, and knew what to do.

	Torbern had no shovel, and his claws were ill-suited to digging a hole in frozen earth. He sat down and let his mind wander. His consciousness reached out into the surrounding forests, and gathered the latent mana of the land. He had been wary of taking more from nature than it offered, but this was different. He was in service to the very wild that saw fit to bring him here to this corpse, and felt no qualms about using it to serve that end. The air around him grew heavy and thick with radiant magic. The smell of green mana filled his mind, though it was closer to a thought than an actual smell. Torbern always associated green mana with the smell of damp earth, leaves, and tree sap.

	An onlooker would have seen the green energy radiating from the werebear, at least until Torbern knelt down, and the energy flowed from him into the earth. Placing his claws in the snow, there was a rumble in the as the magic coalesced into a seed, and sprouted. Years of life energy poured into the new plant as roots burrowed down, while the stalk pierced up and out of the snow. It continued to grow, pushing the dirt and rocks out of its way as a mighty pine erupted in front of the werebear.

	Torbern looked over at his creation, and was satisfied at the appearance of the tree that would serve in place of a headstone. His mind ventured into the snow, pulling more magic out of the water. Snow didn't have nearly as much as a lake, and was no comparison to an ocean, but the faint blue glow that formed around the werebear would serve his needs perfectly. This magic was also sent below the ground, surging along the ice of the frozen earth until it saturated a rectangular area in front of the tree.

	Torbern's claws clenched in the snow. With an effort of will, the werebear's mind channeled the energy into a hydrokinetic force, pulling the ice upward. The magic pulling the ice exploded outward, taking rock and dirt with it, and leaving behind a rather large hole in front of the newly grown pine. Torbern turned back to the body.

	Torbern took the frozen corpse into his hands, and gently lowered the dead man into the grave. The human's other arm had been clutching a bag to his chest. What treasure was so great that the human had perished clutching it to his chest, Torbern thought. Gold? Precious gems? Some family keepsake worth little money, but had great emotional value? The werebear shook his head, resolving that if the man had died with it clutched to his chest, then the man would be buried likewise. He gently lowered the body into the grave, the arm still frozen, clutching the bag to his chest.

	His attention turned back to the pine. Using his claws, he etched an epitaph into the bark. He didn't know if anyone on this world would be able to read the druidic sigils he carved into the tree, but it mattered little. What mattered was the magic of the last rites he wove into the letters spelling out “May your spirit find peace” in the language of Dominarian Druids.

	Torbern stepped back and focused his senses to see the magic flowing around the tree, and up into the air to drift out over the forest. If the man's spirit had not found its way, Torbern hoped that the beacon of life energy would help it along. No spirit should be left to wander.

	The bear's gaze snapped downward, sensing something amiss. There was a glimmer of life energy from the grave. Not enough to suspect that the man was alive, but a life energy that was not of the forest. It was just the faintest suggestion of something in the grave. The bear snorted, and hopped down into the hole. He sensed the life energy coming from inside the dead man's satchel. His claws cut the bag free, and he opened it. Torbern's eyes went wide with shock. What the man had died clutching to his chest, was a child.

	The druid had always known that there was mercy in the frost. Someone who fell to the cold could sometimes be revived, their life force preserved by the very cold that claimed them. The ice had claimed the man, but the man's body had served to shield the child from the worst of it. Judging from the glimmer of life in the body, the child could yet live. Torbern saw as the energy slowly trickled out of the body. Even a merciful frost would not be kept at bay forever. If left alone, the child would freeze and the life energy would return to nature as its father's had.

	The bear acted quickly. He clutched the child to his chest, allowing his fur to help guard against the cold. His gaze briefly swept over the unfilled grave and the deer carcass. The grave could be tended later, when there was time. Leaving now meant leaving the deer he hoped to trade for supplies to the wolves, but he thought little of it. Nature would provide another if it saw fit. No, this was much more important. The wild had brought him here, and he was sure for this reason. Torbern was never one to ignore signs from nature.

	He lifted his nose to the sky and inhaled. The smells of the wild washed over him until he found what he was looking for. He turned to the familiar smell of wood ash, sweat, and horse shit. The smells of civilization. Torbern had been heading to a way station that served as a trading post where he hoped to pawn his deer. It wasn't much, but it was civilization. Civilization meant people, and people meant fire and life giving warmth. Torbern tore across the snow at a run. Yes, he thought, this was what the wild meant for him to do.