Through The Clouds
Thistle
01-19-2020, 03:50 PM
Call it a wild hair, but Thistle had felt uncommonly drawn to wander as of late. Her paws carried her north, north, as far north as north would go, until she found herself here. The land was barren and frigid for the most part. The snow and ice were perpetual; whether they melted or not even during a warm summer she could not say. She had passed several small spires of ice along the way, paltry congregations built up over eons, born of the gusting and perpetual wind, but nothing quite like what she stood before now. It soared above her, brilliant an imposing, a beacon amongst an otherwise bereft landscape. Well she'd done it, right? Gone as far north as she could go. All that was left was to turn south again. Maybe she would take up the same objective but in the opposing direction. Wander until her paws were raw, spending each day enveloped in mindless humdrum, one paw in front of another in front of another... Perhaps. But it seemed like a waste of time to see this monumental colossus only to turn tail. Thistle put her nose to the ground and began her investigation. Bitter cold and snow was all she got, for the most part. There was a wiff of old dung, ages old probably, and the occasional scent of the sea. Nothing unexpected at all, until... Huh. Well that smelled like a carnivore fo some sort. It didn't sing to her the way most plant-eaters did, but it also was no fox or bear or bird. What on earth? Curious as she was, and so worn out that she had no sense whatsoever of self-preservation, Thistle pressed on. The small figure she stumbled upon was still certainly no fox or bear or bird, but upon cresting a low drift and setting eyes on the creature, Thistle was forced to blink and ruminate for a moment for she could put a name to it. A Lynx, of course. Obviously. Thistle had never crossed paths with one, much less traded words, as she understood them to be solitary and refined. They were scarcely known to her homeland and she herself being a young wolf thought them cagey and cynical based on word-of-mouth. But there before her, lo and behold, doubtless undergoing her own investigations of the grand ice structure dominating the landscape was indeed a lynx. Thistle wavered a moment. "Oi!" she called out, before she realized the exclamation had left her mouth. "Are you native here?" Thistle didn't know much about the small felines or their habits but at the very least she might be able to beg knowledge of hunting grounds nearby. Might as well get a meal in before she began her southerly trek. What was the harm? Besides, she was in fine form as it was, so there didn't seem to be much danger in it. Famous last words, but she would stand by them for now. "Speech" |