Silvertip Mountain daybreak

the best winds, as the younger man tells him, was not what arktos had expected, if he'd expected much at all. the best winds. he mulls over this answer, chewing like it was a toothpick betwixt his lips. it was certainly windy up this high, a constant nape ruffling breeze that at times swelled in speed so that it pressed against his body like a palpable force.

as arktos thinks it, so mother nature wills it and he shifts his weight against the swell of air, until it passes.

there's no shortage of wind up here, his silence finally breaks, unsure of what else he could say to it.

and then the table is turned, and for a longer moment arktos considers holding his cards close to his chest; but this wasn't a game of poker and he was finding that he wasn't the kind of man that shied away from assertiveness and honesty, regardless of how awful it might paint him.

to be up this high and look out at the land beneath you is to know both power and vulnerability, he gestures with his muzzle to the horizon. i came to find those feelings and find out what they both mean to me.