never made it as a wise man

The youth lay stretched out on one of the slabs of stone part way up the steps. Behind him stood the rest of the mountain - gleaming and white and snow capped, while before him lay the patchwork of cliffsides and pine groves and foothills and meadows dotted with brown pin-heads, each a mountain bighorn. The land was beautiful, but it was deadly. Not that it bothered Criss anymore than the other dangers in life. See, that was just it, he accepted that his family was moving and he was ready to follow along when the time came, but he couldn't figure out why. There would be death and danger wherever they went. Some of them talked sadly about how they missed 'the good old days' back in Glaciem. Blizzards and bears ands rogue wolves sweeping in to slaughter a new wolf every other season? Good old days? Cross let out a hot, troubled sigh from his coal black nose. He was blessed with good parents and a whole pack to look out for him, but he had already seen things that altered how he viewed the world.

He was going to die. He didn't know where or when or how, but eventually it was going to happen. Did it scare him? Of course! But showing fear wasn't going to help anything. The not-quite- yearling was dealing with what he'd seen. He was drawing his head back out of the shell he'd gone into. But the wolf coming was different. He didn't feel the need to bladder on about everything he did and saw. He didn't mind the chatter of others, he just didn't feel like it himself. Didn't enjoy games like e used to either. Cross sighed and stretched out his neck to rest on his forelegs. That was why he was up here watching the world roll by. There wasn't anything else to do.