Silvertip Mountain thestral

they stole covertly across the hinterlands, their speed buoyed by urgency. slipping fast into the dark yawning of a cave, the pair deposited dragomir in a shadowed corner and reconvened within eyesight of the downed cub.

 trepidation filled her chest, but the yearling pushed it aside. there were duties to be done; tracks to obscure. lookouts to discover. 

astara caught her breath as she inspected the cave carefully. a scent of urine lingered obscenely, no doubt released by the cub in the corner. her wind was slow to return, so astara spent that time mapping out the enclave.  merrick’s odd laughter dinged woefully down the stony corridor, prompting a stirring of astara’s ears. nudging him once, the shadow turned back towards the entry’s tunnel and ascended into the upper realm. once on loamy soil astara trekked back where they had come, traveling lengthwise along the trail — here she made many detours and loops, careful to listen for the sound of pursuers if any came.

it would not entirely mask their scent, but it should help delay any trackers. at the very least the incessant back and forth from pursuers would be audible enough that it would give the pair time to escape detection. satisfied she had done what little she could, astara made back for the shadowed egress and sought out merrick wherever he had gone.