Little Goat Mountain a too-small mountain

"you are a loyal wolf, amsu," the austere wolf observed, snorting lightly. "and with tastes all your own. for that you should not feel sorry." the dire wolf's long tail flicked, and he bobbed his head towards the goldspun male - a creature of the sun and sand; of the desert, a life stigmata could not fathom for himself. "i hope you find them," he said simply, but in earnest, using the sentiment as his parting expression to the loner.

the paths each of them walked were too diverged for now, and because he did not know the future, he could not promise the male a place among his wolves should they ever meet again. he wanted snow-capped mountains, where amsu craved sun-baked seas of sand; it did not seem as if their destinies had any business aligning, but stigmata supposed anything could happen for any number of reasons.

"farewell," he said, and turned in a lateral direction, beginning to glide smoothly on his way.