spring is nice and all, but
[Poor Articuno's kind of dying over here. Spending centuries holed up on Mt. Freeze didn't do much for her climate tolerance.
And she doesn't want to head north to the Seven Lakes because there's nobody up there and that would be lonely and Articuno doesn't like that.
So among all the trees near the CMA, one is...covered in snow?]
Ohhh...I don't like this...
[The blue bird sighs, shifting her feet along the branch where she's perched. As the localized snowfall begins to falter, she ducks her head down and snatches the Icy Flute that hangs on a string around her nest, warbling a quick melody; the flakes begin to fall again, and she sighs again, looking dejected.]