Three and a half thousand metres in altitude, North of Italy, and just on the borderline tower the great, frosted-topped Alps. As two mountainsides melt into a valley, a small, snowy town meets. Clouds glide above and below, like mystical white pillows, that softens and creates a warm glow of the suns powerful and reflective glare. The warm glow beats gently onto the crusty-surfaced snow that covers the mountains in a soft, white thick duvet. Nature lies snuggled underneath the snow, hibernating patiently for its spring wake-up.
The thin, sharp and icy air waits to bite at anything that shows itself in the bleak white-lands. The suns radiant beams give a reflective glare off the glistening snow that sparkles and beams with glee. From the snows hard and shiny surface stands a tuft of rich, green grass, bearing the pre-season, harsh humidity. Trees stand like thick furred polar bears, covered in a blanket of snow, bearing the freeze from the icy gales that pass from time to time. They wait until their white coats have gone and they are no longer wrapped up all frosted.
Small holes surround the trees individually, where snow has brushed off the trees and plummeted like bombs and embedded itself in the thick snow. Untouched, the snow seems, apart from the deep paw marks off the traipsing Vixen, hunting for her young to survive the harsh conditions. Her pups play and fight outside the den. Running just past the den, water trickles gently, sparkling in the sun as it glides over the snow, and towards the valley base, where it flows into an icy freshwater lake.