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Ooc — Chelsie
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The wolf walked unassumingly amidst the crags and crevasses of the cliff's trail, with snout and tail held parallel to the ground, ears erect and swivelling attentively, and mouth parted to filter the scents she tracked. Her head tilted alternately down and up, nose picking between the fresh scent of mountain goat on the wind and stale droppings and fur snagged on rocks left by their passing. Jinx trailed the thinning mountain herd for sport, for there was no intent to hunt this day; she had fed well from the pack cache, and was accompanied by no wolves adept at navigating the death trap that was Sheepeater.
Her paws carried her higher and higher, out of sight of the herd populating the upper reaches of the cliffs but near enough now to hear their bleats echoing down. She might count them if she got close enough, or watch their graceful dance over steep terrain that challenged even the bravest wolf to their extreme if they caught sight of her... But Jinx would not follow if they fled. She was sure-footed in her maturity, a careful wolf with skill at sneaking around unseen, but she was not hardy enough to consider mountains trivial. Even the stalwart wolves of the mountainous Seahawk packs could not have navigated this cliff without their hearts in their throats; no wolf had such mastery of mountains, not even those born on harsh Everests' slopes.
Jinx was no mountaineer, and so if Sheepeater Cliff could make a mountaineer think twice about being too hasty, then it made her think with twice the urgency. Her going was careful—not slow, but cautious, and her paws placed with utmost care—as she climbed ever higher, huffing away the effort with nothing but the thought of finding the herd, counting them, and reporting their status back to her Alpha.
The wolf walked unassumingly amidst the crags and crevasses of the cliff's trail, with snout and tail held parallel to the ground, ears erect and swivelling attentively, and mouth parted to filter the scents she tracked. Her head tilted alternately down and up, nose picking between the fresh scent of mountain goat on the wind and stale droppings and fur snagged on rocks left by their passing. Jinx trailed the thinning mountain herd for sport, for there was no intent to hunt this day; she had fed well from the pack cache, and was accompanied by no wolves adept at navigating the death trap that was Sheepeater.
Her paws carried her higher and higher, out of sight of the herd populating the upper reaches of the cliffs but near enough now to hear their bleats echoing down. She might count them if she got close enough, or watch their graceful dance over steep terrain that challenged even the bravest wolf to their extreme if they caught sight of her... But Jinx would not follow if they fled. She was sure-footed in her maturity, a careful wolf with skill at sneaking around unseen, but she was not hardy enough to consider mountains trivial. Even the stalwart wolves of the mountainous Seahawk packs could not have navigated this cliff without their hearts in their throats; no wolf had such mastery of mountains, not even those born on harsh Everests' slopes.
Jinx was no mountaineer, and so if Sheepeater Cliff could make a mountaineer think twice about being too hasty, then it made her think with twice the urgency. Her going was careful—not slow, but cautious, and her paws placed with utmost care—as she climbed ever higher, huffing away the effort with nothing but the thought of finding the herd, counting them, and reporting their status back to her Alpha.
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swing dance club - by Jinx - January 13, 2014, 02:42 PM