...followed in the wake of descent. If one with a kind eye could call the rush of tan hide such a thing upon the mountain. Humble as the wanderer perceived herself to be, for her gait upon mountainous terrain, there was pride; as she believed her steps were on par with those of the deer gallivanting across the open fields. Her paws were but whispers on the steppes of the peaks with hardly a stone bothered by the weight of her bodice to the earth. Her dance was practiced, well rehearsed from her time upon her own Sunspire, and always did the bound bring a gentle smile to her face. Though with all sense of pride, there was a humbling blow.
The slopes were not those of her Sunspire, more jagged and unrelenting as she attempted her descent. Each step was heavy giving way to frigid rock to fall from the graces of her peaks in graceless exhibition, nearly scrambling several times to maintain her balance. Even her tail was a useless rudder to keep her aloft, its wild swaying doing nothing to hold her in place. Had an eye been watching, she must have looked like a yearling attempting to stand for the first time; all unbalanced with legs flailing until inevitably she skid the remainder to the base of the mountain. And her pride did suffer as she took her first relieved breath of the new air. Her heart hammered madly until she could stand it no longer, and collapsed into rugged heap upon sandy shores.
Oh yes... it was here. These gentle turning waters and soft beckoning shores. The worth of her tumble come from what her eyes could behold. The very life that thrived beneath the prison of fine ice. And the view itself... nestled within the frigid bosom of the mountain. No... certainly, there was no finer view than this. |