discovery: seek not your fortune in a dark, dreary mine

Quiet shufflings of the wind re-arranging it's drifts of snow reached his ears like a ballad. He had always felt pleasured to watch the fickle breeze toss and turn, tumbling head over heels as it swept up icy flakes and piled them into drifts, artwork that only the critical eye of the wind could see. One breath, and it would knock its' fragile structures into puddles of snow before it repeated its cycle. Prodding his chest through the brunt of the shifting air, Dovev had set a rather lazy preamble through the warmth-less afternoon. His paws found traction through the thin sheets of white, on solid ground that sloped steadily down towards sharp and twisted cliffs and passes. He had, in fact, climbed up this way originally last fall to settle Porcupine Ridge for the winter, and his mind held an image of the surround scape. Autumn grasses spread unblocked by trees, around boulders and over tiny glacial streams in a thick mat of auburn. It was a thick pelt to the top of gray-white cliffs that seperated the lowlands and the mountains. Their intricate, maze-like quality provided places for small grottos, caves, crevices, and even minature valleys that captured snowmelt in tiny but dancing rivers. Even covered in white, certain landmarks registered in his mind's scope.
The wind had died down, and Dovev kept his gait at a slow meander as his muzzle occasionally brushed the ground for scents. He wasn't out for anything in particular; if he found preytracks, he would hunt, if he found nothing, than what harm could a little exercise do to him? The snow had almost masked any aromas, anyways, and the open grassy ridge wasn't the best place for prey. Dovev had almost stepped upon the carcass before he had registered it. As his pale orbs turned down, what seemed to be a skinned and headless rodent lay in the snow. The white male's audits swiveled outwards as he inspected it closer, his frame looming over the tiny bloody pile of meat and bones. The scent was vole, but someone had expertly pulled it's mohangany pelt right from it's tendons, and surgically removed the entire head. It looked ready to be roasted. His mind had tales of witchcraft and socercy firmly rooted inside their cells, spurred further by rumours commonplace. Well, whatever the purpose was behind it, it was a free meal. Crunch.
Dovev's jaws firmly and decisive snapped around the limp animal, his teeth grinding up bone and blood into a pulp before swallowing. There was hardly enough for a full bite.
Further down a ways, the earth began to jut out sharply to the left while it fell gradually away towards the right. Having never ventured this far out, the male took the lower path. It wasn't a bad location, as this trail seemed to be popular for high-grazing deer that came out of the nearing forests. He even spotted an occasional hare bounding across the surface of the snow in his wake. The ground sloped into a knoll as it backed up against a curve in the cliff walls, with a steep path into the meadowy grotto. To his surprise, a black, inky well of a cave mouth rose right into the walls, no doubt a secret. It wasn't an easily spotted area. Dovev descended with his usual unbrided curiousity, rocks tumbling from his paws as his weight loosened stones from the steep decline. Something odd, however, was striking him. A soft murmur seemed to speak from the rocky walls itself, mixed with a very odd perfume. His hackles slowly bristled as the male approached the mouth of the cave.