To The Mountaintop

It was beginning to irritate Wesson that his family had not arrived yet. Glock, his younger opposite brother, had made it with him, but they were doing their own exploring. Colt, a brother in Glock's litter, was not far behind. Or at least, that's what Wes had thought a few days ago. Now he wondered if perhaps little brother hadn't been swallowed up by a monstrous sinkhole, or eaten by something. The kid could handle himself for the most part, so his absence was noticeable.

And have I mentioned irritating? jealousy prodded him with. What if the family had found something they liked better? He'd have to meet back up with Glock and make sure he was okay. He was capable, sure, but less likely than Colt to stay alive alone, and no MacNarah was truly meant to even be alone this long. What if someone was deceiving the others? They could be in danger. Wes toyed with the idea of turning and going back for them, but he'd been sent ahead for some reason... Better to wait a little longer for them to show. He didn't have any interest in getting chewed out for turning around.

Settled that he wasn't going anywhere but forward, Wesson decided to do a bit of exploring. They'd need somewhere to live, after all, and channeling his energy was better than letting it simmer. He didn't want to erupt at the first person he found. From a distance, he'd gotten his sights set on a very tall cliff, primarily driven by the idea of the challenge. His first two attempts to reach it, however, had been monumental failures. He'd seen the path from the beach and started by attempting to take an easier climb, first from the north side then from the south. Both routes were blocked by pack lands. Feeling his sour mood worsening, he'd made his way briskly back around to the shore and the tiny trail it offered.

Massive paws struggled to find purchase on the uneven ground, but his long legs and endurance made up for that. He made decent time, even if it was more than he liked, and worked out some of the rage that was simmering in his belly. Feeling calm(er) and enjoying a sense of pride for his effort, he took a deep breath at the top and looked over the field before him. His gaze fell, not on an empty landscape, but a tiny dark female with flowers on her head. She resembled his mother, he thought immediately, but not in color. Where Wesson's mother had a light brown coloring, this one was chocolate with a black stripe down her back. The ache that had stung his chest dissipated as he realized the resemblance was likely only in size alone.

Wesson toyed with the idea of heading straight back down the cliff, but only for a moment. Travelling with Glock had been fine and all, but when was the last time he'd been able to flirt with a lady? The brute was lonely and sick of being silent. "Evenin' darlin'," he drawled gruffly, taking a few steps in her direction.