Ouroboros Spine out of the races and onto the tracks

it was cold the day he set to leave the endless spire, with biting wind nipping his neck and heels as he shouldered against winter's breath. the mountains were cold and desolate and the wind carved down their jagged faces in hyperborean song. against the grey-blotted sky the mountains rose like bruised stone, capered by worn-thin blankets of snow.

he had picked his way down a goat's footpath in hopes of finding some form of shelter, for it was a day where both prey and predator affirmed their existence by taking refuge from the bitter cold. as he pulled himself over a wind-worn column of granite the slope spilled beneath him for miles and he saw a white form hurled against the shrieking wind. his nose twitched in displeasure for the wind was against him and would surely notify the pale predator of his presence. he elected then to stand his guard, quietly watching the white wolf embark with his eyes trained solemnly on the wolf's approach.