A burst of cold wind hit me in the face and I gasped, finding the sensation all consuming. I’d never been outside of the maintained weather environment of the habitats, which were kept at a constant eighty degrees, the coolest they could make it considering how far down we were in the earth.
I fell to my knees, closing my eyes. Okay, I told myself over and over. I could deal with this. Not one Warrior had ever perished from a cold breeze…that I knew of. For a minute, I could do nothing but feel the thin, frigid air hit me square in the face even as I huddled on the ground. I opened my eyes, hoping the wind had died down a little bit and saw in front of me a pair of very large legs obstructing my view. I jumped up as I forgot about the wind and grabbed the stake from my leg holster on my way up.
How about all of you? How much does weather play a part in your writing?