Even now in Augra it is not uncommon to see snowflakes filtering down through the tree limbs. Calling the snow late or early makes no difference here in the Thunder Peaks: The environment is harsh even on the most pleasant days.
Regardless, the halfling minding the several chests at the travelling bazaar keeps a smile on her face. Her small fingers twirl a medallion around her neck as she turns her face to the swirling wind delivering the flakes.
"Storm's brewing," she says after a satisfied sigh, "a good day."
Her attention is drawn then to a small band of armored folk arriving from down the western path. Warriors with coin, no doubt, and surely in need of pie and ale. Perhaps even some pipeweed so that they too might breathe fire onto the winds. It's only going to get colder.