you're the life of the party // creating yule tree

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the harsh winter bled away when the considerations of such victories. The tangle wood, the elysium under their thrall and the typhoon in quick succession to being subjugated. All weak in comparison to his parent's reign of the condemned: who's camp was in tattered, who's lives had been nothing short of hell for years. Even now the thrill of such news awakened a vigor in camp. There were smiles, snark, joviality in camp where there had once been weary glances traded like blows in a cold war. 

Since the battles, there had been a life brought back into camp, But as the seasons grew colder, and prey was brought back from lands more plentiful than here. It was easy to forget: the devastation that had heralded here on their island. It was only in camp, the barren almost scorched dirt: with how ot refused to grow even the blades of grass. There was simply no greenery. He gritted his teeth at the reminder, watching mother step up to grow a small palm, even from the edge's the strain of her power's present in her features. It made him furious, a quiet fury that shimered in pale red eyes as he walked closer alongside the rest that are present in camp.

A Yule tree. Timbre remembered the holidays before the strike. Quietly listening to his mother and father both explain to him the importance of winter in all things. It was important to remember to celebrate life, just as much as one engages with death. Timbre stepped up alongside his mother and sister, the black lion gently set down the white paint that the lion usually reserved for his own fur down. Pushing a paw into the mixture and placing his own paw print down at the base of it. [glow=black,2,300]"Just like old times, hm?"[/glow]

[align=right]Timbre Totatum-Harbringer-Malus  | Timbre of Coalition of the Condemned