Moonspear they put angels in the electric chair

The weather had gotten chilly. It had happened almost overnight, the tall grasses near the rendezvous site glittered with something he had learned to call frost. @Lyra had explained it in some detail to him, his father too, and it had been a fascinating event to discover along the middle reaches of the mountain.

So it had become a bit of a thing for him to do, to wake early and hopefully before the others, and slip out for a bit of a wander. His ranging was never too extreme and while he had been caught and wrangled back to a safer locale a time or two he found that little by little all the adults about were confident in letting the kids roam a bit more each day.

It was after all, rather impossible to keep them all confined when they were still growing leaps and bounds on the daily. He had noticed how much smaller his parents seemed next to him, or how much closer in height and size he was getting to his elder brothers. There were talks of them hunting formally now and the thought of participation had also set him to honing his own skills when no one was watching.

At least no one important, anyway.

Altair stalked through the grasses in the dim light, weaving and twisting along ruddy paths just like the tendrils of fog that teased his sight and played on shadows. It was here in that wilting growth that he could see the frost glitter and shimmer; how cool it felt on his tongue to taste! But he did not linger on this thought for long as he trailed the winding path of a weasel, actively pursuing it as much as he daydreamed of toting it back home to share for breakfast.