hand crushed by a mallet

There were a lot of really good caves around here, made sense why so many groups seemed to be flocking up here lately. Everywhere he turned, the young wolf was catching whiffs of pack scents. Not that he blamed any of these packs, since he was beginning to appreciate the North, in all it's unique and very sharp beauty. Everything about it was sharp and cold. The air, the ground, the sounds. When he breathed in late at night, his lungs ached with the sudden cold of it. Permafrost left the ground beneath his paws with absolutely none of the soft give that southern regions had, and early in the morning the grasses frosted over and crackled under his meager weight. He could hear the whistling of wind over rocks at seemingly every turn, or the delicate cascade of pebbles down a mountainside. Sometimes there was the harsh, explosive crack of ice adjusting its immense weight upon the landscape.

As he wriggled his way through the tight squeeze that served as the entrance of this strange cavern, excitement bubbled just beneath his skin. The thrill of discovery was more than capable of keeping him warm right now. All he wanted was to pick his way through the caves and see if they were just as still and empty as the stagnant air implied. As his thin skull popped through the other end of the tunnel, he could already catch the faint skittering of tiny claws on the stone floor. By the time he'd pulled the rest of his bony form free, scrabbling to his paws with a complete lack of grace, whatever little creatures had been roaming nearby were long gone. The youth stood still as the grave in the vast, open catacombs. Overhead, the minute screeching of hunting bats helped to paint a picture of what was going on up there. The sounds didn't dissipate into dead air high above, and instead there was a cacophony of sound above him. Their echolocation must be bouncing off crowded stalagmites growing from the ceiling, or something of the sort.

His companions had stayed behind, wary of the adventure their canine friend had promised. So he was on his own here, which was just fine. The ram and shrike wouldn't have been much help or fun in here. Pitch dark caves full of mysterious animals? Only a blind idiot would be able to see the fun in this place. Which this blind idiot absolutely did. Picking up his slender paws, the wraith crept deeper into the cavern. He made an effort to keep his claws from clicking against the ground so he could hear any movement nearby, and avoid the awful screeching of sharp nails on smooth stone.

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