Mount Apikuni and he walks among his people

@Grezig i apologize about the wait for this!

the early morning was clear, the breeze cool against the heat that the rising sun would bring with it. the moon still holds fast, bright and defiant in the velveteen darkness that is yet to be breached. mount apikuni houses small copses of trees on it's southwestern side. the northwestern side, however, is an entirely different story. he moves through woodlands that touch all three points: mount apikuni, herbalist's cache and emberwood but lingers on the outskirts, closer to the mount whose face on this side is horrendously scarred. there are old wives tales, that a once prospering pack had been brutally killed in the avalanche and then fire that had left scars upon the mount's face. the avalanche, kjalarr believed. it was evidenced in the stone. the pack he isn't so sure of: easily it could be a moral story meant to warn young children away from the dangers of mountains. his eyes rise to the mountain. an iridescent, frosted milk color sees only the mount's looming shadow in a world of never ending fog that writhes like it is living.

young life has taken hold from the seeds of destruction, kjalarr notes. saplings grow and small woodland life has returned. a small snort leaves his black, leathery nostrils. they are alike, he and this mount. both scarred. both persevere against that which stacks against them. he spends a few more moments studying it before he turns away and continues in the direction of the cache, shrugging into the thick of the woodlands.