Silvertip Mountain rock

Tonravik had spent a few short days on Silvertip Mountain. She was learning now of its trails and its hidden paradises. Streams and rivers, forests and small falls. It was cooler around the top, where she stayed; it is good, because she despised the unbearable Summer heat. Now that it is night, Tonravik moves to further investigate the place that she is becoming more acclimated to. It is not so dangerous as the Mountains of the North that she had grown accustomed to (alongside another, who may or may not return to her side). The wolf she had come with hated the heat, too. She could not find him, but she did not search for him; she was not his master, as he was not hers. Tonravik saw herself equal to very, very few, but being that she owed the male her life, she subjected herself to his company and, dare she think it?, enjoyed his presence.

But for the while, he was not there, and she could not smell him, so her nostrils sought other scents, scents that could inevitably teach her more of this place. She knew no other wolves lived here. But perhaps others passed through? Ah, but suddenly she was no longer interested in the presence of others... that would require speaking, and she was in no mood...

She rose her proud head and shook it out, loose furs falling free. Tonravik was used to a sempiternal winter; here, it was hotter than... anything she'd ever experienced. The heat the sun brought was worse than the heat an enemies fang brought when it hit the body, but she could not decide if it was worse than the shame. The thought was one that passed, because it was night, and she need not worry about the hellish heat of day.