[SE] The unkindness of ravens

The only problem with the shadow-cloak was that it didn’t hide her footprints. So for those who cared to look, those who cared to venture outside in such bone-chilling cold, they might find a string of footprints traipsing along, but as the individual keeps themselves to the shadows of the houses and alleyways, not much of a glimpse of a person. There might be a shock of blonde hair, surprisingly uncovered, or a boot, or the flick of a black cloak - but little in the vein of distinguishing features, especially for two who have never met. The dull roar of falling memory snow has her jumping back under the next houses’s long eaves, and as she peaks out, she can see the boulders tumbling to the ground. Most splatter into mounds of white powder, but one - for whatever reason, maybe it’s particularly memorable - bounces along and so she darts out to catch it, pulling it back into the shadows. Trying to stay hidden, Wessex breaks the snowball into quarters with her talons and then reshapes one with her bare hands, then leaning one arm out from the overhang and lobbing it up at the crow with more than a little satisfied grin to herself. Two can play at that game. WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm