Silvertip Mountain alex, you gotta fend for yourself

backdated to 6/9 or so

Fengari was a crescent in the sky, almost at his lowest strength. Luckily for him--and for all the children of the night--the asteria lived for these nights, shining brighter than ever to guide the way of any travelers, wanderers, those that were lost. . .or seeking to be found. The white priest wormed his way down the side of the mountain, spending the evening hunting for game in the forest that blanketed the base of the crag.

Hunting was a mixed bag for Phocion. His white pelt, unless against the backdrop of snow and ice, was a detriment; he was a pale beacon in the woods. His small frame and weight, however, enabled him to step quietly and nimbly, even in crackling leaves. If he could keep himself well-hidden enough, and used his silence to his advantage, he could sneak up prey without being noticed.

It usually turned into a waiting game, which he was okay with.

He was on the northwest side of the mountain, near the glacier; if one found a clearing near the edge of the trees, they'd have a nice view of the ocean. He could hear the rushing of it, the gentle beating of waves against the shore. It reminded him of finding Cortland again, and he smiled, hidden like a thief in the brush. There was a rabbit's den nearby, and his eyes were trained on the hole, ready for one to venture out.