Rising Sun Valley peregrine

@Ghelan

suliya sat perched atop a jagged rock, her frame still against the bite of the wind as it whispered over the ridge line. below her stretched the tundra, vast and pale, its brittle grasses shifting in waves beneath the low light of the overcast sky. and there, far below, the caribou moved—a slow, purposeful migration of bodies, their antlers rising like twisted branches against the horizon.

her amber eyes tracked them with a quiet intensity, taking in the rhythm of their steps, the sway of their heads, the way their breaths misted in the chill air. they moved as one, a collective mind and heart, yet each carried its own strength, its own will. there was something humbling in their unity, in the simplicity of their journey.

she shifted slightly, her paws brushing against the frost-dusted rock, though she remained silent and still enough to remain unseen by the herd below. this was not her time to disturb, nor her place to intervene. she came only to watch, to listen, to think.

the ridge gave her space to breathe, to let her thoughts drift and settle like the snow that would soon fall here. her gaze lingered on a bull at the edge of the group, his antlers broad and proud, the thick muscle of his neck evidence of battles fought and won. a faint snort left her nostrils, an almost-smile tugging at her lips. strength in form, resilience in purpose—qualities she had long sought to embody herself.

but she was not caribou, nor was her path so clearly marked. her climb would not be so simple as following the herd. there were no tracks to guide her now, no antlers to lock in a fair contest. her climb, like the rock she sat upon, was jagged and uncertain, carved by winds she had yet to understand.