Little Goat Mountain a too-small mountain

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This was a mountain that Amsu had climbed, it being small and easy. The grass was dead from the cold and there were no other inhabitants, but the smell of goat—old and stale—permeated the air. Perhaps they would return in the spring, Amsu thought. For now, this little mountain was rather lonely. It would be a beautiful place to make a new home, especially when the grass came back, green and fertile, but it did not carry a trace of the red that Amsu had grown up with. Deserts and canyons were the places his heart belonged. And this mountain was small, not as close to the sun as he would have liked. For now, he decided to move on. Sighing, he stood from his seat at the top of the mountain and began to make his way back down.

as one wolf descended the stout peak, another ascended. this one a towering warwolf, smokedark with a menacing stride. few knew this wolf, or braved his presence at all, but those that did had come to respect him in one way or another - whether or not they would dare to admit it to themselves. stigmata may not have been appetizing to every party he come across, but he could never go unacknowledged - not by anything that valued its life.

he paused as he noticed the earthgold wolf, mistaking the coat at first as belonging to his compatriot finch. but everything else about the stranger was wholly alien to stigmata, so he let out a low chuff in greeting, wondering about the kind of wolf he had come across that grey-cold day.

Amsu looked up at the chuffing sound and quickly located its source: a large, dark wolf who was facing him. The Light worshiper wagged his tail and dipped his head. “Hello there,” he called quietly. “The view from the top is beautiful, though Amsu thinks it would be better in the spring or summer.” He was, of course, referring to the top of the mountain. He looked back over his shoulder for a moment, then turned and faced the stranger again, unsure of what else to say.

"amsu?" stigmata repeated in languid curiosity. "is that you?" he did not dare take his eyes of the stranger yet. it had been several years since he had met a wolf who referred to themselves by name, but that encounter had not been pleasant. this wolf looked friendly enough - with bright, amicable eyes - leading the warhound to give the peacekeeper a chance at something friendly. "heading anywhere in particular?"

Amsu dipped his head in proper greeting at the male’s question. “Yes, Amsu is me,” he said. “Forgive me for my speaking habits. I know others find it strange.” He couldn’t help a grin then. “But I find your way of speaking just as strange.” The male asked him if he was going anywhere in particular and he sighed. “Amsu is yet unsure,” he admitted. “He is new to these lands and only wishes to find a new home. Somewhere bright and peaceful, for he is not made for war.” He stopped speaking then, afraid of revealing too much of his history to a stranger. He would share it if asked, but he did not like to burden others with the tragic story of his exodus from the desert.

stigmata looked amused, but didn't respond verbally to implication that his manner of speaking was equally as foreign as the other's. it was a true enough statement, he supposed, and more than that it proved that he wasn't entertaining some uneducated boor. if anything, the wolf may have been misguided, and such an affliction was remediable, as far as stigmata was concerned. "i do not know of any bright place," he told amsu lazily; "but i can attest that much of these lands are peaceful. war in these wilds are few, if not nonexistent."

wow sorry for this shit reply

The man’s words reassured Amsu. Not entirely, as he was not naïve. There would always be some form of fighting. If not physically, then verbally. But the fact that these lands were not wartorn like his beloved desert gave Amsu a bit more peace of mind about attempting to settle here. “That is good to know,” he told the male. “As for finding a bright place, Amsu is sure he will do fine on his own, or perhaps find someone else who can point him in the right direction.” He paused here, feeling a natural break in the conversation but not wanting to leave yet. “Amsu wishes to know this one’s name,” he said, bowing his head in greeting. “As this one already knows Amsu’s name.”

shit?! NONSENSE

"ah, of course," the basilisk hummed, his long tail swaying slowly. "this one, is called stigmata." he reflected the wolf without seeming to mock him. "i reside in this range, with a few others," he went on to explain, gesturing his his muzzle out towards the vale and beyond. "i imagine you will do fine on your own, but if you should find need for warmer company, there is a place to be earned among us of the diaspora."

Stigmata. Amsu tucked that name into his brain for later, in case he ever came upon the dark male again. He did not mind that Stigmata seemed to be making fun of his speech patterns. Such a thing was common for Amsu. He took it in stride and did not hold it against others. Actually, he pretty much didn’t hold grudges as a general rule. It went against the whole “peace-loving” attitude. It took a lot to get under his skin. 

His ears perked when Stigmata mentioned others, and then something called diaspora. “Diaspora,” he repeated, saying the word slowly as if sounding it out. “Have you lost your homeland like Amsu, then?” he asked, referring to the definition of diaspora as a group of people wolves who had dispersed from their homeland. His eyes dulled with sorrow as he thought back to the bloodshed of his youth. He hoped no one else had suffered such a fate. Perhaps Stigmata had come here looking for peace, as well.

"i have," the warhound affirmed, bobbing his head slightly. "so i intend to house wolves, like us, in these mountains." he turned his gaze out towards the expansive range - most of which towered ahead of them - and looked back to the golden amsu, who reminded him faintly of sheltered finch; another gold wolf who seemed both alien and worldly all at once. he didn't wonder what had happened to the male's homeland - it almost didn't matter what had displaced him, for there was room now for improvement - but he seemed focused on whatever he had to say. if he had more to say at all.

Amsu’s expression softened when Stigmata admitted that he too had lost his homeland. “Amsu is sorry,” he said quietly, bowing his head in solidarity. He was interested in Stigmata’s diaspora, but his true calling lay in making his own home here, in this new land. “Amsu thanks you for your invitation,” he said, bowing his head again. “However…”

Here, the golden wolf scanned the horizon, as if searching for something… or someone. “Amsu was followed by a group of wolves, and at some point, we were separated. Amsu is hoping his family finds him again, or he is not sure what he will do.” His tail drooped in melancholy at the thought of never seeing his family again. “He is hoping to make a new pack here, somewhere, in these new lands, though he has yet to find a suitable place. He is used to the desert. These lands of bitter cold and snow are not made for him, no.” His eyes remained scanning the distance for a moment, and then he turned back to Stigmata. “Perhaps Amsu will come find you if… if his family remains lost to him.” He gave the dark male a wan smile.

"you are a loyal wolf, amsu," the austere wolf observed, snorting lightly. "and with tastes all your own. for that you should not feel sorry." the dire wolf's long tail flicked, and he bobbed his head towards the goldspun male - a creature of the sun and sand; of the desert, a life stigmata could not fathom for himself. "i hope you find them," he said simply, but in earnest, using the sentiment as his parting expression to the loner.

the paths each of them walked were too diverged for now, and because he did not know the future, he could not promise the male a place among his wolves should they ever meet again. he wanted snow-capped mountains, where amsu craved sun-baked seas of sand; it did not seem as if their destinies had any business aligning, but stigmata supposed anything could happen for any number of reasons.

"farewell," he said, and turned in a lateral direction, beginning to glide smoothly on his way.

Amsu bowed his head at Stigmata’s words, smiling. “Thank you,” he said, and watched the large, dark wolf walk away. He hoped they would meet again someday. Stigmata was, perhaps, a bit serious for Amsu’s tastes, but he was not one to turn down friends when they showed up. They were not friends yet. They hardly knew each other. But perhaps they would be friends one day. He certainly hoped so. Soon enough, Amsu rose to his paws and turned in the opposite direction from Stigmata, moving on.

[Exit.]