nyamomask

Aryn was in a bit of a pickle... The pale purple kittom was staring out over the pristine snowy landscape in a confused awe. No prints around them and yet their most precious belonging was gone, as if it had poofed into thin air. They looked back through the small tent they had erected and hoped another search through their packs would bring better discovery. Sadly, this was not to be and still the delicate silver circlet was nowhere to be seen. Aryn sighed, rolling up their sleeping bag and stashing it away into the pack before breaking the crust of newly fallen snow. They could see the adults, one at each corner of the caravan group, starting to stir and pick up their own items. The other kittoms Aryn was traveling with also started to pop out of their own tents, yawning, stretching, and gathering their things. The purple kittom knew they only had a short amount of time before the group would be moving on to the village nearby, some to find new masters to apprentice with, and some