RO travel thread.
He'd had enough of the hinterlands after the first week, but had gotten so turned around that it took another few days just to find a familiar area and set off again. When Tit came upon the crag where he'd encountered the big grey man he was almost persuaded to turn around again just to try and avoid a potential recurrence. He didn't want the company of strangers right now; all that Tit wanted was the familiarity of family, something he'd not had in too many days. Maybe he was just tired of fending for himself? It was a tedious way to live - moment to moment, unsure of the future, vying for any piece of meat or safe space he could find - yeah, that made more sense. Tit wasn't sure what it meant to have family but he knew he wanted an easier life. So it was clearly time for him to find Liffey, or Rannoch, or anyone else from the Vale again.
He crossed through the crag by backtracking along the path he'd initially taken, but made sure to vary a few of his choices too. Right instead of left, north instead of east, going along the more meandering path just in case. Along the way he found something odd though... Hidden among a segment of irregular stonework, where the path became an impasse that even the lithe boy could not cross, there was a skeleton.
The scent of it wasn't very strong. It was a very old thing, then. There wasn't much flesh left on the structure of the ribs, and the limbs seemed to be criss-crossed awkwardly. The skull caught his attention first and foremost; Titmouse hadn't seen many skulls like this, you see. It wasn't long like a wolf, or smooth and petite like a deer. It wasn't massive like he'd suspect from a bear. But the eye-holes were big and round, a crack radiating out from beneath the socket and bisecting one of the cheeks. The lower jaw was a few feet forward too - perhaps pulverized and cast off in the creature's fall? Titmouse examined the cliffside as he perused, but could see nothing remarkable - no paths, anyway. It was getting dark though, and he was far too interested in digging up the remains.
It took an hour or two, but by the time he'd expended all of his energy Titmouse had a singular prize to show for it: the nearly intact skull of a mature mountain lion. Although he had no idea what the creature was, he was intrigued. As soon as the object was free he cast it to the ground again, ducked low as if in a play bow, and rolled. The scent of the dead thing combined with his rogue-scent, and he imparted a wolfish odor to the skull that would forever lay a claim.
This is mine, the scent would tell others. I did this, Titmouse would boast. With his spirit bolstered, he gathered up the skull with a careful clasp of his jaws around the broken orbital bone, hoisted it up as he stood to full height, and began to mosey on towards the coast again. If nothing else, he'd have a story to tell others - whether it was true or not, Tit didn't precisely care. The world would go on thinking of him as a powerful warrior!
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