Sleeping Dragon i'm a cask of oak, i'm whiskey soaked

@Theia

 

Snow and ice made a mountain treacherous for one who was not proficient in traversing slippery slopes. Brutus had fallen numerous times in his youth. He had cracked his skull on every protruding boulder on his home summit. His sister had always teased that this was the reason he was not 'all there' in the mind. The jokes had often gone right over his astute perceiving abilities, which had made them less fun for Brutus' sibling. He had always been an adequate source of brawn. The warrior did not understand why he would need the sharp lick of wit.

Sauntering along the jagged edges of the volcano, Brutus swayed with a near leonine grace. His large paws pressed into the snow until it rose past his ankles. It was caked to the bear's belly and clung to the longer tufts of fur at his chest and tail. He did not seem to pay it any mind. Plumes of steam rose from his nostrils with each heaving breath. Brutus basked in the scent of the peaks, hoping to catch the wafting aroma of prey.