Porcupine Ridge i'm trying to wake up from this.

Born into deep, dark wilds on a greatly vast mountain called Tsathoggua, the landloping Scorpion had made way eagerly up into the Sunspires, searching for familiarity. She had hoped to find an area that might remind her of the slopes from her home — the once proud mountain, crumbled and washed away by severe flooding that had drenched them all at the end of summer. Her birthplace, as impenetrably solid as it had once seemed, was now mostly just a pile of rubble and collapsed trees; As tall as ever, yet twice as uninhabitable.  

She was disappointed with what she found here, too, unfortunately. Despite the thick woods, this range was drenched warmly in light — not reminding her at all of the rainy peak from which she hailed. She was just starting to feel disappointed, when she saw an unfamiliar creature shuffling between trees.

The yearling slunk after it, cat-like in her approach: both wary and intrusive. It was covered in long spikes, which rattled threateningly as she was noticed by it. The animal held its ground for the most part, and tried to ward the devilkin away with a quilled swipe at every advance she made. Scorpion knew what quills were, but couldn’t know this thing was a porcupine, because she had never seen one. All she knew was that it looked like the biggest, fattest, pointiest rat she’d ever seen.

There had to be something good under all that trouble.

I’m going to eat you, she declared to her would-be lunch, circling the defensively quilled tank for an opening.