Blacktail Deer Plateau you ain’t no messiah with your fancy friends

Like a spear point driven into his side, he hated the twist and clench of hunger. With the fires of a distant volcano, a frothing sea, and the herds seemingly scattered and lost in the fog, Valtari could not say that he was pleased with the journey that he had made. And it had seemed so promising to begin with, a chance to go out and stake his claim in the world. Yet it went without saying that life was not devoid of hardships and if this was to be one, then so be it.

An easy pace took him towards the borders—at least what he supposed were their borders. It was rudimentary at best, but all beginnings had to start somewhere, and the shifting weather did little to bolster their efforts. There had been frost and snow; even now he could smell rain in the trailing traces of the wind. At least the weather was a constant, a familiar memory when he had none of what sort of climate he had ventured into fully.

His icy gaze picked through the scenery as he reached the outskirts of the plateau, but he spied nothing immediate to hold his interest. Even the tracks belonging to their smaller prey were dwindling; an omen if he ever saw one. But true to his nature, he would persevere... and there were always ways to find more food.