Boartusk Heights holy, unholy, beast and divine

A heavy snowfall had kept him bound to the mountain for a day or so, which wouldn't have typically been an issue except that Tulimaq was growing increasingly more irritated with the progression of his life. He should've known not to climb so high in a region he'd never visited before. By the time morning hit he was already up and roaming, seeking out a safe method of climbing down the mountain so that he could find something to fill his gut. He passed by the now familiar creek that cut through part of the woods but he did not stop; his heavy steps carried him between the red-cast trees and down the steep hillside until he came to a narrow plateau of stone cutting cleanly from the wood - and from here he could see down in to the western wasteland of the moors.

He caught sight of a familiar figure too. The rogue that he'd intercepted upon the mountain seemed to be loitering a little longer upon the mountainside — that shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. Tulimaq felt an ember of ire ignite in his gut and lunged from the ridge, cutting his way through the forest with a distinct lack of subtlety, intent on driving the stranger away. That was, until he caught sight of an oddly proportioned shape hulking through the ferns and snow; it squealed and charged away from the rogue, in to Tulimaq's path, but the warrior had never seen swine before and, somewhat dumbly, chose to bare his teeth and snarl rather than give chase.