Trust me when I say...

☥ Wind rushed through the gorge, beating the faces of the many dark rocks that made the Col so dangerous, there were secret paths one could take if they knew what to follow. There were moutain goats in this region, a sure-footed animal that could climb the sheerest cliffsides and make it to safety before a wolf could blink. It was the tracks, tell-tale hoof scrapes and droppings from the goats that let him know where he was going. Oddly enough, he was moving on instinct, his actions almost rehearsed in a way. His claws dig into the snow atop a massive boulder, scraping aginst the cold surface to send vibrations of horrendous pain shooting into his already sensitive paws. With an aggravated growl, Reaper pulls himself higher, then continues up the rocks and makes his way to the highest point in the massive rock pile. It was almost relaxing, the rhythm of pulling, finding a rock to stand on, then a foothold, pulling again. Despite the cold, frosty air, Reaper panted with exertion amd sat to rest on a rather huge boulder, looking down to the passage below.

☥The treacherous landscape was made even more dangerous by the covering of snow that blanketed many of the rock faces. Combined with howling winds, it made icicles on the top that ran horizontal thanks to the force of the gusts. To be honest, the male felt his heart swell with pride that he had climbed to such heights with only a few scrapes and bruises from slipping on the rocks. Still, his expression remained passive, almost brooding, as he listened and scented the wind. Cold, reptilian green eyes seemed to take in everything as he scanned his gaze around the Col. How wonderful to have found the land of his father's at last, it only took a few months and some rather hard lessons learned to get here. It was a trial that had made him stronger, better, smarter, and he was thankful to have the opportunity to be away from the almost obsessive oppression of his parents' rule. He had no plans as of yet but wanted to learn what he could about the land he was living in. The wind kicks up in his face, wailing at him to seek shelter. Moving to shield himself with a large enough flat rock, Reaper simply waited for the gust to slow before letting it ruffle his coat again.

OOC: for the Nav! Whoot!

"Talking." Walking. Thinking. "Hearing." "Salem."