The very region he was incredibly blessed to call his own -- Strynhalde. Endless pine trees as far as the eye can see, some lightly coated in powdered snow while others are rearing to drop their winter blanket just to shed some weight off, it was the very thing Basil had noticed when he moved to this winter wonderland back when he was a wee kittom. When he thinks of Strynhalde, he thinks of home. He recalls memories of his youth so fondly, like his first snow angel or the delicate frame of snowflakes flurrying through the chilling winds just to catch on windows and melt from the warmth. He knows the many from differing regions couldn't handle the chill, they lacked adequate clothing, or they simply weren't covered in thick, plush fur like majority of its inhabitants.
The adult ventures further through the quaint streets of Iorumund, squinting his eyes when he misdirects his vision of a bright light hanging from a cozy shop. Ouch. Once past the crystallized leaves clinging to their frosty white branches, Basil hums in thought as he picks up the space -- rushing back home to his snug household and farm shouldn't have been that difficult, but wrong footing of a misstep has him stumbling forward in an attempt to right his body to prevent a faceplant into the mound of snow straight up ahead. He laughs, loud guffaw falling from his rounded face as his next few minutes towards his home are spent more carefully. He's yet to tend to his farmland, but fortunately his daughter had already tilled the soil which saves him plentiful of time. Because of the below-freezing weather in this region, he's limited as a farmer on what crops he may plant and raise, but this does not bother him. Plentiful vegetables and fruits alike can survive in the cold, theyre resilient and much needed to other parts of the world so it is his duty to supply them. Basil knows all the ins and outs of his homeland, and he would never dream of uprooting from his perfect winter wonderland.
