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Whips of air cut through Young Crane''''s face as snowflakes blurred his vision. Puffs of white that fell from the dojos roof had fell like salt dropped into the kitchens soup pot, and were now swirling about, attacking at the parts of his Gi where his bare skin showed despite him taking shelter under the rafters. Bear chimes rang a discordant sound, pushed with the wind goliaths'''' many hands strike. Spruce trees rocked back and forth, knocking their crowns against the stone rooftiles. The snow had given them a light patchy coat, like a newborn rabbit.