Duskfire Glacier Echoes of What Could Have Been

He had reached the top of the glacier, the blood of a mountain goat that had already been wounded in a fall on his maw, his belly was full, the fungus was not far off tucked in a crevice. And yet....he felt, nothing. The wind whistled and echoed around him, his paws burned from the cold, the air send shards of cold into his lungs, and he yet he did not feel the call, did not feel it was time. Ajei's feather flitted in the breeze but did not dislodge. None of the signs were there, for all that he had travelled, for the hunt tha the had completed against all odds, the right words would not form on his lips and whatever sense he was supposed to have was gone.

It was perfect. It was the perfect place, all ice and cold and stone, it made him feel every limb of his as it hit the ground, he felt stronger than he had ever felt, felt more settled in his skin. And yet. The mist rolled over whatever was left of summer this late in autumn, obscuring his path downwards. He knew, in his heart, there was no use lingering, that there was time yet to be had on this journey. But he could not bring himself to move, quite yet, wished to stay, to let himself sit in what should have been.