Ouroboros Spine six of cups

It was snowing when he happened upon the basin. Or maybe it was more akin to a quarry, all sunken in with a smattering of trees to dot the now quiet view. The mountains that divided the wilderness from the hinterland were more pronounced, standing jagged and dark like monolithic beings. He had spent the better part of two days tracking south, hot on the heels of elk. Dirge hadn't wished to hunt them, but rather hoped multiple others would. But between the forests and stark plains and now the inclement weather, he had shelved that hope.

Instead what now lingered on his mind was more than just picking bones clean from a leftover hunt. It hadn't been his entire intention to venture back here; the hinterlands were ripe for exploration, there were advantages to be sought and adventure to be lived. It was somewhere near to here he thought he had found a piece to a curious and bitter puzzle. Ostrega. Here, of all places. And somewhere on one of those distant mountains was one. He remembered him well enough, and had scarcely the chance to tell his siblings of that discovery before they had decided to part ways.

And now, Dirge remained.

As a chilly gust of wind stirred the flurries wild, he found himself drawing his attention back to the questionably spiny terrain. There was considerable uncertainty that kept him, the neverending temptation of what would happen if he were to pull at the stray threads in a remarkable tapestry. The temptation that perhaps the greatest adventure did not lie in a remarkable vista or some other undiscovered, nondescript treasure. Those thoughts he huffed out into a great plume as though he could circumvent such a wonder. He deigned what kept him lingering was a combination of hunger and a budding loneliness; the former kept him from going in search of his sisters while the latter tied him down and put him through the same mindless interactions every so often.

His expression set stern, Dirge moved on with no destination in mind.