Moonspear a moving tale

He had been doing his best for so, so long. The famine had stripped him of muscle but in lieu of a body that functioned well, he'd found Hydra and her pack, and their aid kept him alive through the worst of it. He'd made a name for himself (at least in the queen's eyes) as a tenacious creature hell-bent on survival; hunting when he had the energy, defending Moonspear where possible. Tye had fought against fate and remade himself: no longer the omega at the mercy of the pack.

But that could only last so long. Winter was here, the famine had ended, but he had not recovered. His need for the approval of the queen drove him to the borders, where he lurked, he hungered, and he did his very best to impress. The mountain was not a forgiving place to the skeletal boy and all of the stress of his short life soon caught up to him.

So while the newcomer Desdemona trailed along the territory limits, she crossed (and re-crossed) the path once held by Tye; whether she knew it or not, she traced his final steps. The path he'd forged through the snow had since been hidden by fresh layers of white, but if she kept on the path... Eventually she would come to a dark crevasse in the stone. It was big enough for his coiled body — and in life, that gap had filled with the heat of that puny body.

In death, there was nothing to him — but should Desdemona find the serpentine shape of his compacted self, she'd spy the dull gold of his squinting eyes.