Moonspear there's something tragic about you

We'll see how this goes! Tagging @Hydra @Lyra because she (and the rest of the Cerberus-Sisters) have permission to get rough with him if they wanna! And @Amekaze but she's busy; maybe @Charon ?? IDK who to tag lmao.

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The barrier that the mountains created meant he could not cross one way or the other for fear of slipping over an edge; there were so many and he was still not as skilled as he would have liked upon the slopes. In the days since fading from the wilds (as he often did), Tryphon had done his best to survive - he had excelled, actually. A life built upon being alone and cultivating one's own skills had paid off, and would continue to do so indefinitely.. But the man was tired of it. He had known this before. When he had met the stranger upon the border of the last pack (Easthollow) only to doubt himself and abandon hope - he had known, somehow, that his wandering days were coming to a close. Life could not persist like this for much longer. Tryphon yearned to be with his shadow again but did not know where to find her; he wished for an easier life rather than the torturous consistency of his own survivalist lifestyle; most of all, he wished for family in some sense. Somewhere to belong, someone to belong to - and this is what drove him over the impassible mountains and back in to the Teekon Wilds.

He did not know that he'd ended up returning until he reached a plateau upon the mountainside, and from there he could look to the north and see the ocean. It was a bizarre moment for Tryphon - as it might be for any wolf accustomed to views from the earth rather than from above - because he could look out at the azure band on the horizon and feel nothing. Whatever fear he once held for the sea hadn't entirely evaporated, but it had lessened. Or perhaps it was just that he couldn't identify that specific band of color as the ocean? Either was possible; but he looked out from his perch as he rested, took in the sights, breathed the dusty air with its hint of salt, and then began to climb on. There was no path; the mountains were just here and you either leveled yourself along their slopes, or you fell to your death. Sometimes it was easier - most of the time though, Tryphon had to follow the thickest tree growth, and more than once had to back-track to find some section of the heavily wooded mountain range that wasn't so choked with ferns and criss-crossing trees that he could fit through.

It was nearly midday when he found himself breathing easier, and at a lower altitude. There really was no telling how long he had spent toiling in his quest; it could have been months, it could have been a year for all he knew. But Tryphon - who began his life as a fat and awkward child only to develop in to something soft and pliable as a teen - had survived the mountain and returned to the wilds a different person. There was a gaunt quality to his summertime features, a strength to his gait, a bulk to his body. The mountain had done its work to cleave the excess fat from him and leave him stronger. He was a little worse for wear simply for being a lone wolf, but there was a rugged quality to him that so strongly resembled Njal that one could argue it was the old Russian reborn.

Tryphon found a dip in the earth where things leveled out, and it was here he took his moment to rest. He stretched, yawned, and began to pirouette on the spot in preparation for a nap - quite the antithesis of his many days of travel and adventure, but something he believed he had rightly earned - but there was something in the brambles nearby that caused the greenery to rustle. The man was on high-alert for anything to eat (or anyone to talk to) so he stopped his spinning and his moonshine eyes caught upon the blurred and ambiguous shape. He did not think to call out in case it was some sort of prey, and chose to seek it out with his head lowered, eager to fill his belly with something small and easy. Rest could come later - he had all the time in the world.

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