the anthem of success

*Silverback* · 08-07-2013, 06:45 PM

~*~

Such a lovely, haunting place. Now that summer had finally found it's way to the northern fringes, the lake had begun to melt. On a cool morning like this one, with the air still snappy and crisp enough to freeze your eye lashes, the water seemed to be nothing more than a mirror. The spires of the tree tops, like masts of parially sunken ships, stuck out here and there, and seemed to hang in space. They drifted in and out of the mist that rose heavily about the place. It was the thick, mountain fog sort, that sought to cling to your very bones.

Out of the white shrouds, came a grey figurine. As the ground-clouds faded from her path, a grey, dappled feline was produced, with eyes like the sea before a storm. She was as silent as the mist itself, coming down to the lip of the water and lowering her rounded muzzle til the whiskers cast the tiniest dance of ripples. A small, rough tongue lapped delicately at the unearthly pool. But the cat was not fooled by the fog. She knew was not alone. There was another here; the stillness of the air and heaviness of the cloud made it nigh impossible to get a clear scent reading, but she heard him moving. Too soft to be anything like a bear or elk, but too loud to be any sort of small game. For the breifest of moments her heart escaped it's silver-barred cage. It did a double-beat, trilling with excitement, with the merest possibility that the unknown was another feline.

Snow leopards are usually solitary hunters. But even the loners have chance meetings upon their borders, or lover's encounters during the mating season. Silverback had never had either. Her mother had died early and Silverback had been left alone in the world. Which, for a time, was just how she liked it. But now her curiosity for her kind had flamed from embers to open fire. Her constant searching had brought her large, soft paws over endless miles and mountain ranges. She had met and spoken with many wolves, but no other cats. And not a soul had been able to say they'd ever seen another beast like her. Each time her question was answered with a negative, it had begun to drive a thorn into her heart. What once would not have effected her, now hurt more and more each time.

She was four years old. And even though that translated as closer to two for wolves, she ought to know better than to put her hopes up like that. To prove her patience to herself, she didn't call out. Didn't beckon to the unknown. The ice siren merely remained crouched at the water's edge, with her elongated tail flicking over the bank, and her head gazing out over the water.

~*~

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