come to decide that the things that I tried

[regenerated]

It was the second year in a row that Claire found herself up to her knees in snow for the month of December, and Claire still wasn't sure how well she liked the change of environment. Snow had been a once every other year luxury back when she'd lived in Texas, the chill only obtainable when the family was willing to fly for a few hours until they landed in the powdered peaks of Whistler. In such limited amounts, it had been a beloved treat. But as it was now, occasionally melting when the days grew unseasonably warm, and almost always tainted a dreary shade of gray by the poor air that she could practically feel polluting her lungs, snow was far from fun. Far from enjoyable. And so that morning, Claire had done her best to ignore Mr. Muggles' many yips and scratches against her apartment door, before finally giving in with a groan and reaching for the clothes she'd piled on a chair pushed close to her bed.

As far as she could tell, judging by the many pepole who had approached her asking for her services, the clothes that had waited for Claire in her dresser were those of a chimney sweep. Having done her best to beat the cloth clean, Claire found that the outfit left a lot more room for movement than most of the dresses and corsets she watched people wear around her, very few women braving the outdoors as the snow fell from the sky. Armed with heavy boots, Claire stomped down the stairs of her building, giving the strangers about a wary look, before pushing the heavy door out into the street. Mr. Muggles, with a yip, immediately tore out into the cold, his small paws slipping on the slick surface of the path.

"Happy now?" she asked the dog, raising her brow as Mr. Muggles fell into the cold, slushy puddle, fur shrinking at once in size.

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[lonewolflives]

Arya did know how she felt about the change of environment: Dissatisfied. She'd been looking forward to the snow, to a slightly colder environment, something more her. Something she could actually think about in those terms.

But it had come wrapped in a city that reminded her, vaguely, of King's Landing, of her time in Flea Bottom. Nymeria didn't know how to take it, either. She appreciated the cold, Arya thought, but would have preferred it wild.

So the two of them slunk along the streets, Arya with her hands in the pockets of the breeches she'd managed to scavenge, until Nymeria tore off to circle around the smaller dog and Claire.

"Don't worry, she won't eat him," she said. "Probably."