A sudden discovery: writing this way has a certain flavor to it. I wonder whether everyone likes it. Also, many thanks to Shihuashu for the tip. Thank you so much.
The bitter north wind wailed like a child in pain. The Shoveltusks huddled together, their thick hides capable of withstanding the harshest storms. They formed a circle around the calves shivering and crying in their midst. Their heads, crowned with enormous antlers, hung toward the snow-covered ground, their eyelids clenched shut against the howling blizzard. Though their own breath had frozen over their mouths and nostrils, they stubbornly remained standing where they were.
Wolves and bears curled up in their dens, waiting for the storm to pass. The former stayed comfortably with their packs, while the latter faced their fate alone. No matter how hungry they grew, nothing could drive these animals out to forage until the grieving wind ceased its lament and the blinding storm tired of its roar.
Such was Northrend's fickle climate: one moment, warm winds brought summer; the next, it was like the depths of winter.
As a Frost Dwarf born and raised in Northrend, he had witnessed weather like this many times.
Like other Dwarves, the Frost Dwarf had a long lifespan and had witnessed countless changes in the weather. He swayed his short body in a dance. This was a Frost Dwarf custom: whenever the weather changed dramatically, all Frost Dwarves had to dance.
"What is he doing?" she asked, watching the Frost Dwarf before her with a strange look in her lovely eyes, her rosy lips curling slightly upward.
"Perhaps it's some sort of festival," Rex answered after a moment's thought.
"This dwarf you found is rather odd. A pity he isn't Muradin," she said slowly, sounding faintly disappointed.
"That certainly is a