Antarctica; Forest; Caltor:Open
Caltor silently swooped down, observing the frost covered trees. He had just recently been on the run, from the pack of tigers in Sudan. They had wanted him dead, but he wanted himself alive, so he came here. As he slowly ruffled his feathers, he saw a good sturdy oak. Sure, it was frozen, but it had a big branch on it, perfect for preening himself. He flapped his wings, and alighted on it. Then, as he started to preen himself, his eyes drooped and he fell asleep.