Silvertip Mountain what lies in the shadow of the stars

Despite her straightforward intentions, Frisk flittered about like a hummingbird might. Her mind had wandered, as it often did, and her paws had been quick to follow suite. In its novelty, Teekon was a place of life and splendor — even with the frigid season pressing against it with cold, breathless lungs. She lingered in areas of particular interest, and then let whim whisk her elsewhere when she tired of the sights. After much dawdling, the dusky yearling finally settled upon a rocky, scantly worn trail.

Aided by the winter's powerful gusts, her nostrils were quickly caught with the Mountain's sharp borders. She settled upon the uneven ground, and let out a call fresh with immaturity. Her voice seemed so inexplicably small against the wind as it whipped passed her ears, yet Frisk stood obstinate, undaunted in her pursuit — she'd weathered worse than the mountain's roaring winds, however mighty. Her limbs, sore, aching, and yet stubbornly able; they served as a physical testament to this.