Ouroboros Spine things become possible if we want them bad enough

This is it. No doubt about it, this is the Ouroboros Spine his grandmother once governed. Scaling the south face leads him to the pinnacle enclosing the valley. The spectacle that greets him is nothing to write home about. There are some trees dotting the land, upright despite the entropy that passed years ago. Not all that impressive though some are quite big. Below that sprawls toppled trees and mud. It looks like a quagmire from up here.

Seems like that storm has wrought more havoc than he originally thought. The only notable quality of this place is the heaps encompassing the vale. Why do that, though, when there is no life cradled within? Aside from birds and fish. The soil here is far too muddy.

Through a jaded lens, Natjuk can repair the spine with his mind. Yes...He can see a napâttulik of many conifers, ancient and proud. A lake, big and crystalline, houses an islet at its center. It travels underground, feeding back into itself. And who can forget the heap of bones just that had mysteriously accumulated there? To an outsider, the sight alone would be enough to send a shiver up one's spine, but for the wolves under his grandmother's rule, it was a welcome treat.

He opens his eyes.

Overcome with an emotion he cannot pinpoint, Natjuk throws his head back and croons a mournful song.

It was odd, to say the least, on how far she had traveled in such a meager amount of time. The day prior, the girl had tracked the elk herd and met that male and now, she was miles upon miles away from that place. There was food there - the herd didn't seem like it was going anywhere anytime soon. But she couldn't read their minds or their body language when it came to those types of decisions, perhaps, if she returned to that place, they'd still be there. Perhaps, if she returned, they would be simply figments of a memory of a previous time. What was the point in sticking to one place if there happened to be an endless world to be discovered? The feeling of belonging to a specific place never harbored in her mind - it never would.

As she scaled the ridge of the mountain, she decided it would be the best bet to get an overlay of her surroundings. The more she could see; the better. From here, she noted that there were neverending fields with - was that a river? Her ears pivoted forward with mild interest. Perhaps she would walk there over the course of the next few days. Maybe something else would get her attention; the entirety of Savannah was the 'now' and not exactly the future and the girl couldn't help but not exactly care about what would happen next. All she knew was that she wanted to see this strange world, what it beheld, and survive.

The song of a depressed wolf caught her attention next; Savannah craned her neck back and released a response. Perhaps this one would actually hold a conversation with her.

As his tragic melody echoes far and wide, the sound tapers and ends naturally. It feels nice, letting that off his chest. He's not sure what that sentiment was, precisely. Longing for a place he will never know? Or sadness for a world that stills for no one? Natjuk deliberates this openly, taking in the lay of the land surrounding the spine. Where to next?

It is not long before his straying attentions are brought to bear upon a howl. Someone had heard him? It should come as no surprise but it does. He thought he was alone, thus he let loose whatever festered inside him. To have some soul witness his unsaid passion makes him feel exposed and ashamed. He has always been a reserved creature so he cannot help feeling this way.

He does not respond. Not instantly. Not while humiliation roils in his stomach. What an ugly, stifling emotion.

Minutes tick by before he can collect enough of himself to call back. This time his howl is short and direct, meant to investigate and not relay: Who are you?

If the other has any qualms with having an open conversation - one where miles around will hear them - they best come closer. Natjuk is comfortable here on the south part of the elevated ring.

There sure were a lot of wolves around these parts; well, a lot to her. It had been a good minute since she had a good conversation with another and the fact that someone had replied made her hopes increase that much more. Sauntering across the hillside, loose rocks sliding from her weight which would cause her to jump to another spot, eventually made her reach the top of the ridge. She had been below him, down on the outside of the cragged mountain when he had called, and once her baby blue eyes found the steep drop, she paused. Broken trees, the reflection on a lake that looked untouched despite the disaster around it, Savannah couldn't help but let her jaws unhinge in silent shock. 

The land had looked pristine up until this point - what had happened? For a moment she just stood, ears drooping gently. If she slid, it would surely lead to her demise. The agouti girl took a step back just for good measures before letting her gaze fall to her paws. She instinctively grasped the stone to maintain her balance, just realizing now just how high she was. Another howl, a response to her, her ears once fallen, pivoted forwards, her tail raising slightly in confidence before falling again; he was close. With a small amount of time in the walk, she eventually became aware of a dark silhouette in the distance. It was odd, scaling this mountain, coming across another wolf. She wasn't sure what she was doing here in the first place. "Hello?" Her pace slowed, uncertainty clouding her movements. Was this him? It had to be - she couldn't see anyone else around.

Natjuk remains rooted to the spot, fully expecting his audience to answer. Not immediately, but soon. In place of word or song, he spots movement out the corner of his eye. Ah. They're closer than he thought, so wrapped up in his own conundrum. He observes the mountaineer, turning to face them and nothing more. The method with which they climb and settle upon the stone shows some experience with this terrain. The way some foundations disintegrate beneath the wolf's weight makes him second-guess himself.

Only when she reaches his comfortable perch does he grow animated, nostrils twitching and ears thrust forth atop his crown. Natjuk does not find himself starving for company, yet he is always excited in these first encounters of lupine blood. Is she the capricious sort? Bloodthirsty? She stops some distance away, out of his reach, with words of greeting. Sensible and hungry for company.

Natjuk responds in kind with a small inclination of his head. Hello. For once, he does not stop there, intending to spearhead the conversation. The wolves around here are quite talkative, after all.

You from around here? Probably not the best start. Maybe if he elaborates...? I mean, are you a newcomer? That's better.

It only took a moment before the male swung around to face her. Blinking in surprise, she only listened to his words. There wasn't much of an answer to her question, in fact, he only answered it with his own. For a minute, she simply stood and stared at him dumbfounded. How had he known? Was it that obvious that she hadn't been born in a mountainous area? Perhaps it was a lucky guess; maybe he was the one that was new and was searching for common interests. Whatever it was, she shook out of her stupor rather quickly and took a step forward, clearing her throat, nevertheless, she let her tail wave behind her gently - purposely letting what wind there was direct it back and forth in a lazy way.

"Yeah, I come from a long ways away." She answered lightly, letting her paws take her further up the ridge so eventually she would stand just a few feet from him. He was darker in coloration, taller than her - and yet almost everyone was. Savannah, unfortunately, was extremely small. She didn't ask him if he was also a newcomer, he hinted at it, possibly, in his last sentence, but she did continue to communicate. "The name's Savannah."

Natjuk is a brute of mountains. He was birthed and reared upon the slopes of one. At a young age, he had to learn how to navigate unforgiving terrain. There is no room for error up here. One misstep and death is sure to follow. If not death then some godawful impediment.

Mountains are not the wisest place to raise a family. One must quickly find his or her legs to persevere but he will never settle unless there is some rock formation close by; powerless to renounce attachment to these landmarks.

She draws closer. They are alike, then, insofar that they are immigrants to Teekon.

He stares at the black blaze on her muzzle, casually moving up to meet her eyes. She is surprisingly small. Natjuk wonders where her strengths lie. Whereas he is built for power, she is built for speed and endurance. Envisioning her routing a particularly fast ungulate, such as a doe or pronghorn, fills him with determination. Best put a leash on that for now.

I am Natjuk, comes his reply. His name is short, ending in a harsh K sound. Beautiful in its own way and straight to the point. Fitting.

This, he motions to the wrecked valley below, is Ouroboros Spine. That is what the locals call it. She had not asked. He stops there, lost. Conversation has never been his forte. He thinks it shows, much to his upset. Even so, he keeps a neutral façade.

The girl is amiable, sensing his disquiet. They converse for a while before parting ways. Natjuk beckons Savannah to stay with him but it looks like her attention lies elsewhere. They part ways, Natjuk heading south and the girl heading northeast.