Silvertip Mountain rock

Her insatiable thirst for knowledge and exploration had led her to the high, windy bluffs of the mountain that overlooked the forest where she lived. She had heard that the locals called it Silvertip, and she had set out this morning with the hope of seeing the peak's namesake for herself. But the summit was too high, and she had run out of daylight and energy before reaching it. Now, as she gingerly descended the steep trails under cover of the night -- taking her time so as not to misstep in the darkness and twist an ankle or tumble down a darkened ravine -- she found herself marveling at the beauty of the scenery under the bright moonlight. The trees around and above her, limned in silver, stood like ancient sentinels watching over those who passed beneath their boughs. Occasional breaks in the forestry gave her glimpses out over expansive valley that stretched out below the hulking mountain, cast in a pewter glow and mottled with shadows and darkness.

She walked silently, and though the breeze told her nothing of any others nearby, in the dark of the woods ahead she thought she saw a shadow move. She stopped where she stood, watching and listening intently. Sure enough, she saw movement, but couldn't identify it. She bristled warily, her bright eyes taking on a sinister light, and a soft growl rumbled deep in her chest -- a warning to whatever was there that she would not be an easy prize if that was their intent.