Silvertip Mountain Poslání

And his words had entwined with his chants, breathing new life into Frenū, granting him a second wind.

***

At last, he caught sight of it—the summit. Only a few more meters to ascend, and he would reach the peak made of silver, from which they would reign over the valley below. But in his fervor, his eyes alight with wonder, enraptured by the songs that carried him forward, Frenū felt his legs falter beneath him.

The sheer edge of the cliffs had claimed him, and he tumbled toward what seemed an inescapable fall. Desperately, he sought a hold, something—anything—to grasp, his claws the only defense against the abyss yawning below. At last, his paws found purchase against the rock face, as surefooted as a mountain goat—yet trapped all the same.

Traversing such treacherous heights was not unknown to him, but his stature had always been his greatest adversary. Perched upon a precarious ledge, he strained to reach the path he had carved moments before, yet his legs were too short, his arms not long enough enough to pull him back to safety.