Snowforest Taiga once was a postcard

The spates of cramping reminded Masquerade of her sporadic headaches of yore. She never knew when they might strike her down out of the blue, incapacitating in their agony. She found herself yearning for her old pine tree on the rise, beneath whose boughs she’d always found respite. Perhaps she ought to find someplace like it here on the peak, though she supposed the dugout suited her needs.

She sprawled in its mouth this morning, red face tilted toward the overcast sky. The slight breeze hinted at rain. Despite this, Masque rolled onto her feet with a grunt, giving her swelling body a careful shake. She felt fine: heavyset, certainly, but presently free of pain. She didn’t want to go hunting—@Riley was out doing that already—but she did want to stretch her legs a bit.

The Redtail ventured down the mountainside, patrolling along its foot and emptying her bladder. After finishing that, she padded south, passing the grotto. Masquerade could see the moraine ahead in the distance, though she didn’t necessarily intend to go that far, especially under threat of a downpour. She glanced upward again, long tail flicking as she continued her sedate pace across the grassy corridor between Redtail Rise and the neighboring glacier.