Loose Leaf
07-02-2013, 04:51 PM
Walk | "Talk" | Think The snow that had gathered around the mountain was melting in the wake of the new spring weather, but so early in the season there was still plenty of it to go around. As the grey and black youth padded silently and quietly through the woods, his trek bringing him closer to a rise in the rocky mountain, he left a trail of paw prints in his path, each one imprinted in the snow. Rune's frosty blue eyes traveled over the snowy ground curiously, noting each little indent and impression with curiosity. Wolves, hares, even a fox, had traveled this way already, a mixture of game and pack members meeting his dark, quivering nose. No one in particular, no one that he could identify on a whiff. And, more than likely, not very close either. As he brought his head up away from the ground, he set his gaze around, realizing that his walk had brought him where he had intended. He had been beside this particular reach in the mountain before, trailing after his father. It was the same night he had seen that lovely white wolf with the terribly injured leg and learned of his father's skill with herbs and plants. Curiously his eyes went upward toward the peak of the rocky structure from which a waterfall cascaded downward into a misty pool, wondering if the wolf still dwelt there or if the cavern would be empty now. It had been some time since he had assisted his father. There were numerous different things that could have befallen the injured wolf. He was not here to check up on anyone, however. His travels had merely made him thirsty, and knowing the waterfall to spill into a pool nearby he had sought out the peak in order to find it. His black dipped paws carried him around the wide base of the peak and to the small, misty lake that the waterfall fed into, the edges still frosted and bare though the waters at its center churned and carried on further down the mountainside. The grey youngster slowed his step and walked over toward its edge, feeling the mist settle about his fur as he lowered his muzzle and lapped at the cold, churning waters that were in constant motion from the waterfall. |
