Gyrfalcon's Keep Allora, pedala!

@Valentine

His paws carried him north. On some days he would walk over twenty miles, on others he would barely manage one. He developed a sore on his right shoulder - a plaque of black dead skin that eventually wore off, leaving a raw wound. He grew delirious with fever. The heat from his head melted the snow around him where he lay, and created a dark halo of wet moss and twigs. He made for a poor man's religious icon.

The illness passed him by and took everything with it, even the relief that had crashed over him after the encounter with the pale stranger. He felt hollow and untethered, waking up on an empty stomach, soaked in a cold sweat.

From far away, he could see the ocean. The blue horizon sat squamous and dense, cupped by mountainous shelves on either side. Dawn was breaking and the air was so clear, he could hear it crack like an eggshell.