Moonspear mighty lonely on my own in the city

48F/mist & sun.

Over the weeks, Tehama had ventured ever closer to the mountain-with-no-name.  Or at least, no-name-that-Tahoe-had-known.  The russet-hued older male had been good enough conversation of a morning, but the woman found herself now craving more consistent wolfish companionship.  She was made for pack life, not for days spent merely in solitude, and the signs of autumn had come upon into the lands in earnest now.  One could see the golden and crimson colors of the fall beginning to blanket forests at the highest altitudes, and even at the lower reaches the trees were changing from the vibrant emeralds of summer to the drab olive tones that would precede their inevitable turn and decay.  Te knew vaguely that her own body, too, was affected by the winds of change, stripped of its gentle sloping curves and any fat reserves by her continuous travels and sparse meals, her coat dulling, thinning.  She felt sympathy for the trees, as if she, too, were losing her leaves.

The season of change had often been the catalyst for change within Tehama's own mind, and this was no exception.  It was time to set her sights to pack life again and the mount was the place she aspired to do so.  For a time Tehama had held hopes that she could be the first to explore its many climbs, but her exploration of its foothills over the past fortnight had revealed scent trails coming to and fro, and she had come near to marked borders more than once before veering away and leaving them a wide berth.  It did not surprise her that a pack already resided here.  The mountain seemed to be a forested fortress, well-suited for both hunting and defense.  In truth, it would not surprise her if the wolves residing within were already aware of her presence, lingering as she had been in the unclaimed lands surrounding the peak.  Always the lady kept its spire within her sight, wherever she laid down to sleep each evening. 

But no longer.  This night, she hoped to find slumber within the depths of the alpine forest, and she hoped in the morning to ascend past its tree line and look out at the dawn from the mountain's heights instead of within its shadow.

So Tehama came to the place that she knew from once before, where amongst a smaller copse of trees and shrubs she had scented the comings-and-goings of pack wolves.  The silver-kissed woman brought with her a trio of quail, carefully hunted the last few days.  She ignored the growling and twisting of her own stomach; quail chicks had been hardly enough to satiate to break fast after the cold night, but this tribute was more important.  Late morning light slanted through the trees, illuminating the fine mist that drifted there.  Te deposited her feathered offerings upon the damp soil, some two or three wolflengths away from the true urine-marked borders of this mountain pack.  When she lifted her head in the morning chill, her howl sent the mist swirling in enchanting patterns of visualized breath, requesting an audience.