Little Goat Mountain You need to let me fly alone

After taking time to investigate what he thought was a lake, then get swarmed by bugs that erupted from the tarn in his passing, Mesa had found his way to the grassy knolls of the mountain range. Here he'd found some peace and quiet from the din he'd awakened.

The grass was cool and damp as he crossed through fields of it. The scent of goats was prevalent, which made sense from an ecological point of view; their presence would ensure the soil remains healthy, which explained how green everything looked even as the season tipped towards summer.

Mesa prowled. He had spent more than a day finding his way up the mountainside and needed something to eat, which would involve tracking the resident goat herd and felling one of their kids, most likely; he was at once thankful that this mountain was not so harsh to climb, and covered in sprawling green-space.