Morningside Cuesta a potato flew around my room before you came

he and venextos had returned to the mountain that had first called to them during the worst of winter — the scent of wolves was thicker now but it had not dissuaded the pair from settling. as before, the gauls had resumed quickly their life upon the stone. triva — triva for all others, the name he had given skwol, the name garait knew venextos would give others in their travel. the pale attalus had come to understand more of the common tongue spoken in the teekon; it was a skill the brusque brennus would never possess. and yet from venextos he learned, and found that he was no longer quite so lost in the darkness of inability to communicate.
garait too had not known of the cliff's existence, his attention fixed on the warm scents of prey that hung heavy in the air. his brother had gone to range, and the gaul found he wished to do the same. the quick movements that brought with it the shifting of snow caught his attention; his broad muzzle swung toward the sight and long stride carried him to peer over the cliff's edge.
heavy steps searched immediately for a place to descend — it was not without tribulation and his own short-lived slip that garait found himself alongside a wolfess he recognized, the cloying smell of her blood striking fear into his heart. the man nosed around her throat, her nostrils, seeking evidence she still drew breath.