Luneshale Pass lonely bones

roan stirred beneath the early gloom of morning, his body shifting against the cold stone beneath him. the vacant pass loomed like a graveyard around him, its jagged cliffs slicing into the mist that clung low to the earth. the air was still, heavy with the scent of damp rock and the faint musk of old prey trails, long abandoned. it was a land untouched, unclaimed, as empty as its name.

his sharp golden eyes cracked open, scanning the landscape that seemed to echo his own solitude. his breaths came slow and deliberate, the rise and fall of his powerful chest the only movement in the stillness. it felt foreign yet familiar, this place—wild and silent, a canvas for the unknown. a new chapter, perhaps, though roan wasn’t one for dramatics.

he rose with purpose, his movements fluid despite the stiffness of sleep. muscles coiled beneath his thick pelt as he stood, towering against the bleak horizon. the silence stretched, pressing against him, but he didn’t flinch. this was what he wanted—wasn’t it? space. isolation. to carve something of his own from this unforgiving place. the thought simmered as he began to move, each step deliberate, his broad shoulders cutting through the fog like a prow through water.