Unnamed

The coatl was cold to his core - far away from the warmth of his old home, he was belly-deep in snow, trudging through what seemed like an endless void of white.

He knew he had to make some sort of shelter if he wanted to survive the night, so he pushed himself to find anything dry to make a nest with. Pickings were slim in this weather, and in the end he was forced to make do with a few twigs and some dead leaves.

His nest was pitiful at best, and a death sentence at the worst. He had resigned himself to whatever came next - waking up in the morning, or moving along, and he tucked his snout under his wings in waiting.

It's not long after that that Bran - a strong coatl wrapped in a snug cloak and carrying a staff tucked under her wing - stumbled upon him, cold and with wings encased in ice, and decided that above all else, her duty was to protect him.

And protect him she did.

(heading off to my partner's lair asap!)