Permafrost Hollows salut i força al canut

He’d been on the move for a long time now, the Bracken Woods had finally given up and their snare on the red pelt was released. How long had he been trapped, lost within? He did not know. But what he did know was that the feeding in the forest was mediocre at best. While the thicker vegetation benefitted a predator’s hunt for the plethora of spaces in which to lurk, it also afforded prey the same thing. In addition, with summer on the way, the game was moving out of the warmth of the trees and into more open terrain. So too would he move with the game and seek out range in which to call his own. 

After the hunt in the Bracken Woods, his belly had been filled and he was grateful for it. Though now he was on the move, ever the wandering vagabond and the wide eyed wanderer. Not much purpose save for survival to the next day. He sought the way forward and never back. The past was where it belonged, behind him. 

His path took him southward and to a higher elevation. As a wolf he was ignorant of many things but he could sense the thinner air as he moved. But the winds were the same here as they were anywhere and so he trudged onwards. His red pelt soon became contrast with the lightening terrain. The higher he went the more he seemed to stick out. But, being in the edge of spring, the snows were departing and leaving gentle puddles and creeks in the land, he would stop occasionally and lap the crystal fresh waters only to continue his journey. Learning the land was key to survival and even if he felt these lands beyond him, knowing them was essential. 

Rocks began to emerge from the ground, first as sharpened pebbled to sting his pads until he learned to evade their touch. Next came boulders the size of a wolf then a bear then a moose. The terrain ever shifted and the trees grew sparse and spread apart. 

It was here that Redmoon first caught a faint scent as he passed a tree. Doubling back, he approached it and scouted the scent more vigorously. He’d not smelt an air such as this. Back in his old home he had scouted something similar though this was by far more… deadly. He recalled the mountains afar to the south beyond the Teekon that lay west of the marshlands of his birth. Cats, sizable but no obvious threat. Bobcats they’d been called and he’d never seen one, but he’d scented and attempted to track one only to lose the scent in the tree tops. This scent though was no bobcat and the pungent aroma wafted into Redmoon’s nose, it sent his hackles to rise and so he stepped from the tree and lifted his nose into the air. 

While he wasn’t sure he wanted to track this feline down, knowing was better than not knowing. Little could escape his keen nose and sensitive ears as they twitched and sought out his new center of inquisition. He heard nothing at all but his nose felt the scent not of a trail but of an overwhelming station. 

He was approaching this animal’s territory… 

Showing no fear, his tail lowered, so did his head to parallel with his shoulders. Eyes on the horizon, he moved deeper into this feline’s lair. Friend, unlikely. Foe, very likely. But unsated curiosity never benefitted anyone.