Moonsong Glacier fəˈnediks

tagging mostly for reference/visibility

He was restless. The sunset wanderer found no solace in Silvertip Mountain, no sense of belonging. He knew only the emotion that had swelled heavy in the white priest's gaze, and he took it as an example to follow. Such things could only bring him more grief, but he remained ignorant of this— and so, he tortured himself instead. The breathtaking peak should have been home, he thought— it could be, it could be, if only he could make it so. If only he could fix himself.
Days passed, and he could not. In the mist of the early morning, under the sun's golden rays, he departed. He said nothing to @Phocion; he planned to return within the day, and thought little of the possibility of worrying his friend. The boy drifted, oblivious and without thought; guiltily he savored the sun on his back, the freedom of solitude, the mindlessness of his travel.
Cortland had not meant to wander so close to the glacier; vast and dying as it was, even his most daring moods had not yet taken him so far. It was the scent of another on the wind that drew him in, ultimately. He approached with light, quick steps, ears drawn forward with interest. The sight of the other halted him in his tracks— a white wolf. The Mayfair was immediately reminded of Phocion, gaze flitting to ink-dipped limbs as if to make certain it was not him. Several beats passed before he dared inch closer, tail swishing behind him as he chuffed a greeting to the pale stranger.