Post by Daibon on Jun 23, 2008 22:47:23 GMT -5
Daibon wasn't a dumb wolf. He rarely ever made stupid mistakes... on purpose. It was his own morbid curiosity that led him to this Godforsaken place, on top of a fuckin' mountain, where the slightest gust of wind could pick him up like a sheet of paper and send him plummeting to his death. It was a wonder he hadn't at least broken an ankle in one of the thousands of fissures and crevices between two rocks, but hey; he had always counted himself a lucky guy.
It was perpetual winter in these extreme altitudes, and a thin blanket of snow covered what wasn't already icelocked and cemented to the ground. The wind screamed around the sheer cliffs before dropping into the void, a green smear that was perhaps a great forest... or just his eyes confusing things again; the lack of oxygen up here had really begun to mess with his head. Tendrils of mist hugged the mountain in a lover's embrace, groping clawed fingers at the wolf as he ghosted along the rocky passes, his destination unknown.
He wasn't looking for anything in particular, he had just always wanted to climb a mountain. I mean, how many people do you know that have ever climbed a mountain? In any case, his curiosity - morbid as it was - wasn't disappointed; twice he had very nearly passed into death, and it was always in the hairbreadth of a second. Shortly after he had begun his ascent the rocks beneath his paws had given way, and the scree that tumbled down the face had almost taken him with it. Again, it was only dumb luck that had been his saving grace, nothing more. His second close encounter with death was when he was in pursuit of a mountain goat kid (dozens of the little buggers up here, wouldn't you know it?) and he had lost his balance and actually took a little humpty-dumpty down the cliff; luckily it was a short fall, and he had escaped death - again - with a mere smattering of bumps and bruises.
Daibon raised his head to the wind and inhaled the thin mountain air deeply, his powerful chest expanding out past his paws. His amber-orange eyes narrowed in recognition of the scent that carried heavily on the wind: Cougar. He wasn't exactly on their doorstep, but he had an idea of their hefty numbers. Still... Nothing to really worry about. And he wouldn't be adverse to the idea of meeting one of the mighty cats; it could very well turn out to be an adventure.
The timber stood stock-still on the cliff's face for a few seconds more before turning tail and retreating back the way he had come, down a natural incline and into a tiny gully that functioned as his makeshift "base". It wasn't a decision easily made; the copse was well protected from the frigid winds that alighted down from the higher bastillions of the peak, and any attempt to locate his position would be thwarted both from the chaotic maelstroms of wind that traveled in all the directions on a compass, and the heavy slabs of icy boulder that all but ensconced his body. He might as well have not even existed while curled inside his fortress.
The wolf approached said fortress with a slight limp - the frost had blackened his pawpads severely - and halted outside the black sliver produced by the two front boulders leaning against each other, serving as the only entrance. The wind whistled in his ears, making them ache; it ruffled the backside of his gray fur and knifed at the vulnerable skin revealed beneath. Curling his tri-colored tail about him, he let his ass fairly collapse to the ground, ignoring the pain that the frost delivered to a place that was fairly sensitive to any kind of pain.
It was perpetual winter in these extreme altitudes, and a thin blanket of snow covered what wasn't already icelocked and cemented to the ground. The wind screamed around the sheer cliffs before dropping into the void, a green smear that was perhaps a great forest... or just his eyes confusing things again; the lack of oxygen up here had really begun to mess with his head. Tendrils of mist hugged the mountain in a lover's embrace, groping clawed fingers at the wolf as he ghosted along the rocky passes, his destination unknown.
He wasn't looking for anything in particular, he had just always wanted to climb a mountain. I mean, how many people do you know that have ever climbed a mountain? In any case, his curiosity - morbid as it was - wasn't disappointed; twice he had very nearly passed into death, and it was always in the hairbreadth of a second. Shortly after he had begun his ascent the rocks beneath his paws had given way, and the scree that tumbled down the face had almost taken him with it. Again, it was only dumb luck that had been his saving grace, nothing more. His second close encounter with death was when he was in pursuit of a mountain goat kid (dozens of the little buggers up here, wouldn't you know it?) and he had lost his balance and actually took a little humpty-dumpty down the cliff; luckily it was a short fall, and he had escaped death - again - with a mere smattering of bumps and bruises.
Daibon raised his head to the wind and inhaled the thin mountain air deeply, his powerful chest expanding out past his paws. His amber-orange eyes narrowed in recognition of the scent that carried heavily on the wind: Cougar. He wasn't exactly on their doorstep, but he had an idea of their hefty numbers. Still... Nothing to really worry about. And he wouldn't be adverse to the idea of meeting one of the mighty cats; it could very well turn out to be an adventure.
The timber stood stock-still on the cliff's face for a few seconds more before turning tail and retreating back the way he had come, down a natural incline and into a tiny gully that functioned as his makeshift "base". It wasn't a decision easily made; the copse was well protected from the frigid winds that alighted down from the higher bastillions of the peak, and any attempt to locate his position would be thwarted both from the chaotic maelstroms of wind that traveled in all the directions on a compass, and the heavy slabs of icy boulder that all but ensconced his body. He might as well have not even existed while curled inside his fortress.
The wolf approached said fortress with a slight limp - the frost had blackened his pawpads severely - and halted outside the black sliver produced by the two front boulders leaning against each other, serving as the only entrance. The wind whistled in his ears, making them ache; it ruffled the backside of his gray fur and knifed at the vulnerable skin revealed beneath. Curling his tri-colored tail about him, he let his ass fairly collapse to the ground, ignoring the pain that the frost delivered to a place that was fairly sensitive to any kind of pain.
