Dragoncrest Cliffs "I'll take this dance."

Natjuk receives the sunless day with a sneer.

Virile stiffness imbues his limbs, invigorated by a force older than any living thing. He sets off with a stiff-legged gait. Today is border tending day. Hooray.

Winter does not bother. Nor does the absolute silence that is settled across the bluffs. The fact that it is a tense tranquility needles. Why? What is it? Is it that the women have come into season? Is that it? Or is there some other reason why all he hears is the crunch of snow beneath him, this late into the day?

With the final white of day fading into night, he turns inward. Snow has been falling for some time now. It freckles his body, creating an interesting mixture of black and ice-white. Natjuk couldn't care less what he looks like, coming upon some large, level stones and pissing on them. Then he climbs on one, clears off the accumulated snow and lays on it, sulking.