Sunspire Mountains fox fire

He trailed his way along one ridge or another, his belly full of meat pinched from the grips of some scavenging birds, and yet he still yearned for something. The further he hiked the more light-headed he felt. Mou had no familiarity with mountains, their dangers, or the shifting of pressure in the air as he climbed steadily upwards through their slopes; he was unaware of, for instance, the thinning of the air as a byproduct of his position. All he knew was that the air felt heavy. He couldn't breath deeply of the crisp mountain air even if he'd wanted to, for doing so made him more dizzy and more likely to trip himself. He took frequent breaks - they helped.

The young man's body was not suited for mountaineering in any way what-so-ever, thus every break came with a caveat: pausing made him more aware of the ache in his hips and shoulders, or the strain in his willow-thin limbs, and he dreaded starting up again. He openly panted as he scaled the mountain but had to stop for longer and longer periods, until he noticed that the summerlight was beginning to dim and he was left to wonder what his next step should be. He could try and find somewhere to rest overnight - which might be best, as he couldn't fathom roaming the cliffside at night - or he could double back and head down to the valley again; an arduous task for someone as weak-bodied as himself.

He was left to wonder and to stare, his one good eye fixating on the distant green smudges beyond the forested butte where he perched; his body appeared to make the distinction for him, and as he sank to his haunches his jaws parted to release a characteristically silent, wide-gaping yawn, punctuated by the dull click of his teeth as the moment concluded. Evidently, he wasn't moving from this spot without a good reason.