It was dark out, morning in those quiet moments before the shadows of night brightened to the colors of day. Yet, somehow, in some ironic way, it was darker than night. Grey clouds shrouded the moon and stars, yet in the ebony abyss of sky the world above was coated in a black veil. The clouds were less than an outline, and so it seemed the darkness had swallowed the celestial bodies whole, smothered them to death with its inky touch. And, as if the darkness wasn't enough, it was cold, the air holding a natural chill that seemed to penetrate past even the skin and bone and right to the soul. It was the kind of vold that ached the body with an almost drowsying pain, darining away at the very spark of life. 

Perhaps Lovetta would have slept longer, fended off the reality of the dark, icy world she awoke to, if the dreams that had yanked her from her sleep didn't remain to haunt her even now that she laid in her nest, disgruntled and awake. She was disturbed, more than a person of her nature would have ever admitted, and with good reason, though she was not even aware of the reason herself. She rarely dreamed, and normally never so vividly as to where it lingered past the odd, vague tangle of nonsense that she normally found her mind weaving. Again, of course, still uneasy from her dream and brought to the eerie mixture of near impenetrable darkness and a cutting chill, she was in no condition to make those mental connections. Instead, she was just left with the ghost of confusing memories and a sense of confusion and dread. Eventually, it lead the she cat from leaving the little warmth that laced the air of the Hunter's den, halfheartedly wandering into the cold as if somehow leaving the bed where she dreamed would somehow allow her to leave behind the troubeling images that played in her head.

Of course, it didn't. Instead, Lovetta was left leaning against one of the rocky walls that surrounded the Hollow, even more cold and doubtlessly even more miserable.