Moonspear the earth sings

the afternoon; chilling. breath draws from betwixt his lips in writhing plumes of steam; evaporating as with each intake of frosted air. there is a cleanness in the air here, as the land climbs above sealevel. plenty of raids the seafarers conducted took grimfrost into varying landscapes: rolling knolls, woodlands watched by twinravens, steep mountains and deep vales.
the absence of salttang will cease to be missed soon; the longer he is from the sea whom watched as he was birthed within the bowels of the cave his mother had made her birthing nest.
perhaps hoping; hoping she would rise and drown him in her cold, salty and unforgiving bosom.

drawing nearer to pack borders he stops, nostrils flaring to draw in their scent. numerous. strong. winter was nigh upon them and if he hopes to survive he knows he must throw his lot in with those established in these foreign lands.
so much remains unknown — for there is only so much he can deduce from scents alone; so grimfrost tips his head back and announces his presence upon the borders and with it, his interest.