Silvertip Mountain with my hand upon the bible

KNOCK KNOCK?

As the days wore on, Twister found himself scouting ahead solo more and more. Whether this meant that their ranks were thinning (which they probably were) or his actions were pushing him to be so solitary, he couldn't have said. But for the last few days, he had been watching as a smaller, almost ragtag group had started their claim on the slopes of a mountain. His pride still demolished from their last foray into the territory of the wolves, he had found a new emotion that he had never grappled with: desperation. He was hungry, he was angry; the list went on disdainfully.

Boldly and on short notice, he had decided they were going to rain on the parade that was happening on the mountainside before him. The malinois threw his head back and called for some of the others, not caring who came and who didn't. If none of them came, then he would have at the spoils he believed to be within. And if they all came, well, they'd have themselves a mountain.

puscifer — conditions of my parole