Moonspear I told my wrath, my wrath did end

Deep in slumber, Kavos had fantastic dreams:

—of giant, incredible monsters, and journeys through climates and wildlands he could never recall after beginning to stir. These night-visions both terrified and invigorated him; both chased him into wakefulness and beckoned him to sleep forever. The colors, the sounds, the smells! It was all so very vivid and stimulating that it drove him mad with titillating fear and selfish want each time he awoke without provocation— oh, how desperately he wanted to be there!— but such fantasies were not meant to be. And for the last week or so, he had woken up angry... and alone.

At least his mother had seen him through the cold.

She'd promised to return, and he had waited at first out of necessity, but the second he'd caught a mouse for himself, and then proved his ability again on a poorly-sensed rabbit, Kavos felt confident enough to strike out on his own without sparing a second thought for anyone.

The longer he was alone, the more he thought about those he missed, and the more he dreamed. He barely remembered Eros and Prialux during his day-to-day plow, but their young faces were crystal clear when he slept, often perched beneath by the flop-earred shadow of Tambourine, or the deep chestnut fur of Banner. Even the dark figure of Stark loomed in the fringes of his thoughts, though he was unable to reconcile with whether it was because he associated the closest thing he had to a father with the preservation of his life or the unfortunate elusiveness of his death. And with no present concept of suicide, Kavos relied entirely on his most base instincts— all of which drove him to keep living.

The morning had worn itself into afternoon by the time Kavos had reached the great Moonspear. He had been walking too long, not even noticing that one of his pawpads had become torn several miles back, and now maintained a steady drip. He smelled his own blood, but ignored it in favor of chasing the scents that bordered the peak looming above him. He remembered how careful Amara had been to steer them away from such pack scents, but without her there to act as a buffer (and without knowing the likely ramifications of breaching these unknown borders), he crossed into the mountainous territory free of any caution.

Still, knowing there might be others around put him on edge, so he stiffened his limbs defensively and hung his tail low between his legs in marked uncertainty, as he picked up his pace in the hopes of crossing the base of Moonspear unnoticed.