Wapun Meadow tusk

garait would lead this time; he nudged venextos with playful adoration once more before setting off at a wolf's-trot across the snowy land. may the gods bless each step; with any luck, they would find the promise of new hope somewhere north. always north.

enter 80s montage here

it was at once both bitterly slow going and quickly paced; the gaulish brothers passed a glen reeking of fox-scent, a small pool overlaid with ice, a marsh still burgeoning with life despite the bitter cold. snowdrifts threatened to swallow the pair; a never-ending expanse of white spread before them. twice were they forced to leave their path and seek shelter as some befouled wind rose and stormed through the winter-banked land. small game was what they felled as they marched, and garait did not know if they would be allowed to continue.
days bled into nights bled into days. no decipherable length of time had passed before garait licked his snow-dry lips and turned toward venextos, breathing warm air o'ertop his brother's poor assailed ears. and here new ridges spread out before them, peaks to their right and before them, and a great maplewood forest studded with stands of birch, rich with the hot scent of greater prey.