Moonsong Glacier my fingers laced to crown,

The burnished beast was filled with fury as he crossed along the coast again, back-tracking after the female he had scented; a part of him furious with desire, a part of him eager to present his battered hide as proof of his skills and ferocity. He grew ill of the scent of the brined air and slunk towards the mountains, where he found a splintered hill that once housed a mighty forest (or so he believed, but truthfully the feline was still buzzed with the scent of Forsythe and he couldn't care less for the terrain). As he marched over the hillside and slunk in to a snowed-in gully lined with ice, Zugzwang realized he had cornered himself, so he back-tracked again — zigging, zagging, it mattered little to the beast until he crested a ridge and spied some shapes. His need for his woman was immense at this point, thus his initial glance and judgement told him that the golden coat was her, so he lunged throught he snow and gave chase to that which he coveted. The beast did not realize it was a pitiful wolf — nor that the cur draped in gold had a pale ally lost among the glacier's hale.