we're alive, we believe

Half buried in a thick drift of snow, warmth still lingered close to his pelt. Paws tucked loosely against his body and covered by a few inches of fluffy snow, massive head peering over the edge of the precipice, he wondered if he ought to get moving. Dawn had arrived, and brought with it a picking up of the winds. There would be a wicked blizzard sweeping in soon, and he was nearly at the summit of the mountain range. He'd chased a fat mountain goat up the trails the night before, and lost it. Perhaps he should try his luck again at tracking it, and hunker down with the carcass to wait out the impending storm. It had been so long since he'd sat through a blizzard and just watched the driving snow from the safety of a cave. Months, it not an entire year at this point. With a groan that would have better fit a man twice or three times his age, he hauled himself to his paws and shook the worst of the snow from his titanic form. Whiskey hued eyes narrowed against the blinding light that reflected from the snow, he sought out any signs of life on the trails.

Vague indents in the snow hinted at the passing of something by the mouth of the cavern in the last few hours, since the snow had slowed as morning grew closer. Ash dipped paws crunched through the fresh drifts, following the tracks further up the mountain towards its craggy peak. By the time he reached the point where snow couldn't cling to the jagged stone around him, his breath came in quick plumes of mist from his dark nostrils. Thankfully, the scent of last night's quarry became more obvious, and he set his nose to the ground and followed the trail that way. Ash cloaked form began to collect a layer of snow as he moved, winds buffeting his massive body with icy daggers of snow whipping over his flesh. A good chase would bring the warmth back to his extremities, surely. By the time he was beginning to catch glimpses of the western landscape through gaps in the stone, he could hear the occasional clatter of hooves disturbing loose stone. A loud bleating pierced the air every now and again. He was getting close.

The animals he managed to creep up on were not the shaggy mountain goats he'd originally come after, but they were close enough. The pale cream pelt, while somewhat less fluffy, was mostly identical- but the thick curving horns of the ram tending his flock marked them out as Dall Sheep. Meat was meat, and he was going to need something to eat if he was going to wait out the blizzard for the next day or two. Dusted with snow, he blended in against the dark stone a bit better than he might have otherwise, and this allowed him to creep up into striking distance. Thick banner sweeping across his hocks, he tensed his muscles and prepared to lunge for the ram. He wanted something substantial to eat, and the muscular male offered just that.

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