Watching the snow fall is so calming. She holds out her tiny hands, willing the flakes floating gently down to earth to land in her pink, open palms. She'd made a note of the border nearby, none too concerned with the scent markers but enthused by the snow dotting her dusky fur, a vibrant sunset hidden away by an overcast sky full of dim clouds bathing the land in a muted light. It's quiet. Peaceful, even. Just how Schenectady likes it. She knows what ehe came here for, what she's supposed to do, but that can wait. She's got all the time in the world, after all. A soft sigh tumbles from the snow monkey's mouth, reveling in the way the wind softly whips against her body, thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders to keep warm flapping like a flag in the wind. She closes her eyes, tilts her flushed salmon-colored face to the sky, lets her body fall just like the snowflakes to the ground, landing in a pile of snow and fabric with a quiet collision. Schenectady splays her arms, letting the cold creep under her skin, numb her fingers and cool her body. The sky clears, eventually, and when she opens her eyes she's staring up into a deep mesh of violets and reds, nighttime impending. The sun creeps behind the horizon, and Schenectady is still undiscovered, a thin sheet of snow disturbed as she slowly sits up, wriggles the warmth back into her toes. Her blanket is soaked, and so is her fur, but she doesn't mind - the chill has numbed her body, but her nose burns with the fallen temperatures. She stands, stretches and pops his stiff joints, and slowly wanders forward, toward the same scent marker she's previously ignored, wet cover in tow.
She pauses where the snow is saturated yellow, a soft, childish snicker falling from her lips - the smell is strong here, of course. She knows better than to continue onward, despite growing curiosity, lest she wants to be torn to pieces by savages who had a thirst for needless violence. Why she chose this place, of all clans, had baffled her family and friends. They've taught her as well as they could, though they themselves have been living in captivity for several years now. There's no doubt a good portion of what she's been told is outdated, however Schenectady knows it's better than nothing. She'll just have to make do. She sits on her hind legs, pushing her red-tinted sunglasses up to rest on her furry, snow-soaked forehead, arms crossed around her chest. She hums, quietly, waiting for someone to come and approach her; ask her the typical "name and business," have her pledge loyalty, all the things she has been taught, however dated the knowledge is.