Spotted Eagle Mountain Like a Dog Chasing Cars

Try as he might to appreciate a forest or a stream, Fellway was a mountain wolf through and through. It seemed ridiculous that a climber would celebrate a descent by thanking the stars for being 'back on solid ground' when rock was harder than earth. What was so great about the ground, anyway? It was stuffy down there, and hot.

Fellway had scaled the range the day before, and had decided to set up camp on the sharp slopes of Spotted Eagle Mountain. He could see the Sawtooth pack from here, sweeping across their territory like a swarm of black mites. Their borders were clearly marked, and Fellway was old and wise enough now (just about, anyway) to steer clear of claimed territory.

But Tonravik had left the castle today. She lurked at its gate like huge, black gargoyle, and Fellway could not resist the temptation. He left the little man-cave that had protected him from the previous night's rain, and slithered down the mountain to meet her.

"Neighbour!" the white wolf announced in his most Alpha-esque tone of voice, turning the corner and into Tonravik's line of sight. She was a beast of a girl, broad and tall and mannish. Fellway rather liked the look of her; he had run into a string of Lady Badasses in his life, and thsi one looked like she might score very highly.