Porcupine Ridge ishkitu-niqaru

The sun has settled beyond the horizon line by now, but there is a golden hue hesitating over the landscape all the same. The ridge that Khalid climbs now is narrow, boasting sparse vegetation and a proliferation of uneven stonework. He moves with as much practiced stealth as he can along the edge of the ridge, able to align himself adequately enough despite his height.

Under his breath he whispers, "Naxaru, naxa..."

When he stops, he crouches low. The wind rustles through the bushes, and the distant call of a bird he does not recognize echoes softly. In the distance, a faint movement catches his eye and as something steps in to view, Khalid's attention snaps to it, and he holds himself there, readying to give chase if it is something he might catch, butcher, and eat.

The wind picks up slightly as he's coiling himself together, and rather than jolt towards the shape, he begins to stalk.