Purpose

He had tried escaping he world in the south and it hadn't worked. He'd run into wolves left and right. That was far from ideal. So the boy wondered if he might have better luck in the north. The emaciated youngling crossed the land with a wobbly, distance eating lope. The further north he went, the colder he became. Why hadn't he thought to bring a fur or something? Probably because he lived on an island where it was always nice and sunny. Dumb. He was dumb.

Beat thought about turning back. Shiver wracked his slender frame. the boy curled his tail upwards against his stomach, trying to keep himself warm. This place was too cold. It was the ideal climate to stay away from others, but it was just too damn cold. Hunkering down within what appeared to be an old riverbed, Beat did his best to block his body from the chill wind that pushed towards him. The young man wedged himself into a crevice and curled his body into a tight ball, burying his face in his tail. He wouldn't be able to last here, but he was too tired to go back just yet. He needed a rest. Just a little rest.

And then he heard the scrape of claws on stone... The boy groaned and curled up tighter, hoping that whoever approached wouldn't see him and would leave.