Silvertip Mountain daybreak

Fjall’s heart skipped a beat when he was invited forth. Swallowing, he stepped forward gingerly, meeting the broad man in the middle of the overlook. The lion of a wolf was even more daunting up close, the yellowsilk wallflower practically dwarfed by comparison, but he felt no fear for his own wellbeing here. It was a peculiar sensation, to say the least.

Ducking his head appreciatively, he turned in a small circle and faced the vast world below. He tucked his tail over his paws and sat primly beside him as the wind wailed and ruffled his fur anew.

Despite the chill, Fjall felt strangely warm.

He looked up at the question. My name is Fjall, he said, the tip of his bushy tail quivering. Too shy to ask the same directly, he went on: So— have you, uh, figured anything out yet, up here…? There was a pointed pause, searching for the man to place his name there.