Winter in Asgard is a sight to see. The gray clouds scudding across skies blue enough to sting your eyes and bright white snow falling from balcony to terrace to buttress to balustrade of the golden palace as geese call out to each other in their flight - wondrous.

The first snow of the season has been awaited since the last of the leaves have fallen and Thor will not hear any excuses against leaping out the doors to the gardens and into a drift that puffs up crystals at being so riotously disturbed. His golden hair is speckled with ice but his eyes are shining when he looks back to Sif and Loki.

"We have lessons," the prince (the sensible one, at least) says even as Sif crows and tackles Thor to the hard, frosty ground. "And Mother will be angry you've ruined your clothes again."

No one listens. Typical. Sighing, Loki walks over to watch bemusedly as the two attempt to strangle one another while laughing like hyenas.

What isn't typical is how Loki bears the brunt of Frigg's harsh scolding on the importance of bundling up properly and how he should be more considerate of his health. Sif and Thor barely receive clucks though they're both huddled and shivering, soaked to the bone but grinning besides.

He isn't even cold.