Silvertip Mountain Tell Me What The Rain Knows

It was quiet that night. The sun cast a vibrant glow against the rugged land of Silvertip, and the sky slowly sunk to the calming color of the night. Soon the stars would begin to peek through the darkened canopy, and Nanook would turn her eyes to survey them again. She found comfort in their presence, the understanding they never changed wherever she travelled. And she liked the idea that somewhere, her family looked to the same sky as she.

She rested in the silence. A lone bird sounded nearby, and she turned an ear to listen. She had heard many songs before, but never one as this. There was something of beauty to it, but the sound chilled her, for there was something different in this one's chorus. Nanook's brows pinched and shifted in her unease. It lingered still, even after more birds joined in to soften the sound.

Nanook lay still for a moment, before she opened her eyes and lifted her head to survey the land beyond her. Her eyes took a second to adjust to the evening light, but soon the darkened blurs took shape and the form a wolf cut a silhouette against the sky. He swayed with the song and the wind that whistled through the mountain's crags, and a shiver quivered her spine. From the wind or the ghostlike presence, she couldn't tell. Ever silent, the Apaata gave no thought to speech. She merely tipped her head and steadied her ears to listen to the wolf who sang with the birds.