It was colder than it’d been before the storm, so the first thing Bitterroot did was climb above the cloud cover and bask in the sun for a moment. The clouds out here felt weird, like they hadn’t been stitched together properly, for lack of a better term. They were too loose; Bitterroot knew from experience that if she landed on one, a hoof in the wrong place could make the whole thing unravel. Rather than the light water of Equestrian clouds, Northern clouds felt like she was flying through a dew-encrusted spiderweb.