He couldn't find a good reason to turn around and head back to the vale. It should've been easy, but it wasn't. Knowing that the vale was in his proverbial rear-view mirror was important even if Titmouse refused to actively acknowledge it; that place would always be there, he surmised. It was his safety net. If nothing else, he could return should he fail.
That was the thought anyways. The hope. With the way things were going for Titmouse, he was running out of hope - and fast. Hope had become gasoline fumes within his engine; doubt and panic had replaced nearly everything now, corrosive and black. There was no bright side to this, he had come to realize. It had only been a month since the fool had fled the vale - but he'd suffered without Liffey, without Rannoch, and all that the vale represented.
His family wasn't gone, he had left them. Twice, he had left them. After waking with this thought almost two weeks ago, Titmouse knew what he had to do. In order to survive, he'd have to find them again. Facing Liffey was not something he was keen on doing (deep down he missed her, but if anyone asked him now, he'd still refuse to claim her as family). That left one other option: find mom and dad. Find the caldera.
The boy did not know where to start. He had gone so far from the vale already. Tit knew the vale was far removed from the caldera, but not by how much distance. He didn't know the direction to head. There were too many questions, too much to consider, and he swiftly became overwhelmed as he made his decisions.
Linger among the trees, or follow the river? Camp out by the lake to recover some energy, or try his hand at fishing? He had grown thin and lissome; not exactly skeletal, because he did eat, but more like... A thin grey whisp, half the man his father - his real father - would've looked like at this age. His muscle had stripped to the bare basics, and although Titmouse felt weak and insecure now, his body was being cultivated into something stronger. He no longer noticed the long hours of running or the limited diet he had become restricted to; he made it work, he survived. But all the same, decisions had to be made, and he wasn't sure.
He just wanted to be sure.
So when the dawn of the final day came and he did not see anything even remotely familiar around him, the young man was close to giving up. He thought of his options again and again, and while his feet kept moving and he could feel his skin burning with his racing pulse, he knew he'd have to stop soon. He'd have to settle. Find somewhere, anywhere, and start over.
The caldera could wait another day.
That was the thought anyways. The hope. With the way things were going for Titmouse, he was running out of hope - and fast. Hope had become gasoline fumes within his engine; doubt and panic had replaced nearly everything now, corrosive and black. There was no bright side to this, he had come to realize. It had only been a month since the fool had fled the vale - but he'd suffered without Liffey, without Rannoch, and all that the vale represented.
His family wasn't gone, he had left them. Twice, he had left them. After waking with this thought almost two weeks ago, Titmouse knew what he had to do. In order to survive, he'd have to find them again. Facing Liffey was not something he was keen on doing (deep down he missed her, but if anyone asked him now, he'd still refuse to claim her as family). That left one other option: find mom and dad. Find the caldera.
The boy did not know where to start. He had gone so far from the vale already. Tit knew the vale was far removed from the caldera, but not by how much distance. He didn't know the direction to head. There were too many questions, too much to consider, and he swiftly became overwhelmed as he made his decisions.
Linger among the trees, or follow the river? Camp out by the lake to recover some energy, or try his hand at fishing? He had grown thin and lissome; not exactly skeletal, because he did eat, but more like... A thin grey whisp, half the man his father - his real father - would've looked like at this age. His muscle had stripped to the bare basics, and although Titmouse felt weak and insecure now, his body was being cultivated into something stronger. He no longer noticed the long hours of running or the limited diet he had become restricted to; he made it work, he survived. But all the same, decisions had to be made, and he wasn't sure.
He just wanted to be sure.
So when the dawn of the final day came and he did not see anything even remotely familiar around him, the young man was close to giving up. He thought of his options again and again, and while his feet kept moving and he could feel his skin burning with his racing pulse, he knew he'd have to stop soon. He'd have to settle. Find somewhere, anywhere, and start over.
The caldera could wait another day.
October 06, 2017, 09:23 AM
After an arduous climb and during a nearly-as-slow descent, there was only one thing occupying July's uninterrupted thoughts: this crag was not his friend.
He was a wolf who had spent most of his life up in the mountains, and knew how to navigate their ilk quite well, but these papery outcroppings and sharp-faced trees were unfavorable for even the most adept of his kind. He felt ill at ease with his weight here; unbalanced and uncertain as he plopped down from ledge to ledge. His singular focus on not falling to his death had put him on edge, and the pale brute clenched his jaws together until he came at last to level ground.
July heaved, and glanced up over his shoulder to survey the particularly difficult path in the lowlight of dawn. He noticed almost immediately that there was a clear trail right beside the jagged way he'd taken— a sugary slope backing the hellspiked road he had risked— and July balked at the absurdity of this moment. Scoffing, the now grumpy wolf turned forward and padded through the mountain lowlands with the need to escape on his mind.
He hadn't gone far when his dreary eyes picked up on some movement ahead of him. Before he could gear himself up for a hunt, he noticed that it was fellow predator and not prey that he was spying upon. It was a younger wolf, whittled and rawboned from its time spent alone, and July— who had fared better in his solitude than this poor boy— pitied him reflexively. His approach, however, was born out of loneliness. His ears and tail lifted confidently, the latter wagging encouragingly as he took several tentative steps towards the male and boofed to steal his attention.
He was a wolf who had spent most of his life up in the mountains, and knew how to navigate their ilk quite well, but these papery outcroppings and sharp-faced trees were unfavorable for even the most adept of his kind. He felt ill at ease with his weight here; unbalanced and uncertain as he plopped down from ledge to ledge. His singular focus on not falling to his death had put him on edge, and the pale brute clenched his jaws together until he came at last to level ground.
July heaved, and glanced up over his shoulder to survey the particularly difficult path in the lowlight of dawn. He noticed almost immediately that there was a clear trail right beside the jagged way he'd taken— a sugary slope backing the hellspiked road he had risked— and July balked at the absurdity of this moment. Scoffing, the now grumpy wolf turned forward and padded through the mountain lowlands with the need to escape on his mind.
He hadn't gone far when his dreary eyes picked up on some movement ahead of him. Before he could gear himself up for a hunt, he noticed that it was fellow predator and not prey that he was spying upon. It was a younger wolf, whittled and rawboned from its time spent alone, and July— who had fared better in his solitude than this poor boy— pitied him reflexively. His approach, however, was born out of loneliness. His ears and tail lifted confidently, the latter wagging encouragingly as he took several tentative steps towards the male and boofed to steal his attention.
October 15, 2017, 09:05 PM
Tit was tired, and he didn't know where he was. All that he could think about was hitting the hay. When he finally slunk his way towards a decent looking area that didn't require an hour of prep and digging, he was caught by surprise when there was already a person standing there. They didn't seem keen on sleep - rather, the stranger had their eyes on Titmouse, and the boy was too tired and weather-worn to know what to do. He sized up the stranger as quickly as he could (which wasn't quickly at all). While their posture was positive, the boy's mental state was something else. Tit stopped his advance and just stood there, stiff-legged and awkward, his ears fanning back and away from his face to signal an undeniable indecision.
Uh, hi,croaked his irregular voice with its infrequent teenage pitch.
October 16, 2017, 07:33 PM
July's brief pause ended when he received no show of teeth or aggression from the young wolf. They were the only things that might've staved his approach; instead he was received with indecision, and the pale miscreant took that as an invitation to decide for him. He closed the distance between them eagerly, tail flagging and expression keen as he studied the gangling teen for a turn to negativity. There was a ribbit of some pitiful greeting or another, but July hardly heard it as he sought to invade the male's personal space with an exploratory nose.
He bobbed his muzzle forward, wary of potentially snapping jaws while posturing his own body to take the brunt of the stranger's reaction, whether that was to be attacking him or not. He hoped to engage him first in the exchange of their scents, but he certainly had an aggressively forward way of asking for this. But July risked using such tactics as they often served as a personality test on secondary notion. He was quickly able to separate the strong from the weak, the brave from the fearful, when he approached them this way.
He bobbed his muzzle forward, wary of potentially snapping jaws while posturing his own body to take the brunt of the stranger's reaction, whether that was to be attacking him or not. He hoped to engage him first in the exchange of their scents, but he certainly had an aggressively forward way of asking for this. But July risked using such tactics as they often served as a personality test on secondary notion. He was quickly able to separate the strong from the weak, the brave from the fearful, when he approached them this way.
October 17, 2017, 04:44 PM
This guy didn't talk, which was unsettling but not innately terrible. So far everyone he'd encountered had been talkative, so it was almost a nice break. But the guy was still up in Titmouse's face without a second thought; sniffing, prodding, being really weird and particularly invasive. Tit was taken by surprise by this. Having been wandering on his own for so long, he didn't really enjoy having a big ol' stranger getting up close and personal; this was evident by the flash of his front teeth and the way he rounded backwards with each attempt by the stranger to get any information. He wasn't afraid exactly, just wary. Behind him, Tit's tail was stiff against his hocks, although the tail-tip gave an occasional flick in the manner of a curious feline.
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