Silvertip Mountain but what's inside you?

specifically, he's exploring the glass cave sub-territory. c:

ridgeback, ironically — given his name — isn't one for mountains. he prefers flat woodlands ...the occasional rolling hill fine. though he both admires and acknowledges the underlying majesty of rocky sentinels that loom like titans trying to escape the earth he isn't a fan of the height. still, the view that silvertip offers him is nothing short of breathtaking. when the light rain shower starts up, he seeks shelter in the yawning mouth of a cave, unwilling to test his balance and luck on rocks slick with moss and rainwater. the utter darkness is a slight adjustment that his eyes make easily enough and the end result is well worth it. the tunnel of the cave give way to a cavern that is inviting, filled to the brim with crystals that would no doubt glimmer in the sunlight when it was not obscured by rainclouds. the small incline down leads to loamy grass and low plant life and pools of shallow freshwater.

would you look at that..., ridgeback admires aloud — to the bats that dwell in the darker and deeper parts of the cavern system no doubt. maybe silvertip mountain wasn't so dreadful and dull after all, he considers.

keeping things vague concerning nightwalkers

out for a cigarette break, he's taking his time leaning against a rock wall when a rain breaks. he sighs and grinds his foot out on the floor before looking around in search of shelter. he is a tall and slender silhouette made even taller and more slender by the way he stands, like he is pulling himself together. it's cold. it's a world of fog and water.
he grunts as a fat raindrop explodes on the back of his neck. he puts his collar up. the ground under him is slippery and unreliable and his calf muscles tense with everytime some mud gives way under his weight. there's a cave up ahead. he picks his way up towards the dark mouth, fingers splayed, and finds that he isn't the only person looking for shelter from the rain.
aside from a deep sigh, he's quiet. the inside of the cave is crystalline. the facets wink at him with the overcast lighting. huh.

huh

the sound breaks the silence; inquisitive? or acknowledging? or perhaps the same 'i'm mildly surprised' feeling that has drawn ridgeback's own words of reluctant admittance from him? it matters little, he tells himself. he knows now that he is not the only occupant of this cave and he turns to face the tunnel's mouth, paws eager to continue familiarizing himself with the secrets of this territory and it's hidden gems giving pause. head lifts and neck cranes to find the hazy silhouette of the other male. fascinating, isn't it? ridgeback inquires with a slow charming and yet devilish grin tugging at the edges of his lips.

whoever the stranger is, he's facing towards the light, and urias gets a good look at him. handsome, he thinks. sure of himself. for a good reason, i'm guessing.
incendiary eyes. like a blast furnace, or the engine of a steam locomotive. you could almost hear the bellows wheezing. he returns the smile with his glasgow scar. very, he says, his gaze flitting back and forth from the geode-like centre and the top of the stranger's head. red hair, almost like a mohawk. he's reminded of those greek helmets and their plumes. ever seen anything like it? he asks, curiosity turning over in his head.

no, ridgeback nearly answers; stopping himself seconds before giving voice to the thought. that wasn't explicably true, was it? he thinks of ridgeback spire, of the place he and his siblings were born and trained raised. once, numerous times but he can say that he only marveled over the gold inlaid with wood when he had first been allowed to explore the ruins as a cub. after that first time, it became a thing of habit. it lost its marvel. weirdly shaped trees pressed against crumbling rocks that had gold veining along them. ridgeback speaks from his memories. 'trees' didn't quite feel like an accurate description but ridgeback knows nothing else by which to call the doors of the crumbling, ruinous monastery.

he closes his eyes and tries to visualise it. gnarled branches like arthritic hands grasping at red stone. golden streaks glinting and glimmering from every angle.
i have something like that, he remarks, opening his eyes, the fine muscles twitching as they adapt to the light. it was a big tree. did you know you can transplant any branch to almost any trunk, and it'll grow? a massive, heavy, perverse thing. in spring, it bloomed with a patchwork collection of flowers. the bees went mad with it. just take the branch. gnaw at the bark on the trunk. stick them together with wet moss. rows and rows of branches each with its own color, texture, smell. the closest thing mother nature would ever allow to frankenstein.
he pauses, cocks his head, as if catching himself. shall we go spelunking? he gestures towards the gaping esophagus of the cave. the rain continues to tap out its constant and dense rhythm outside.

i did not, ridgeback admits, with a cursory glimpse at the shimmering quartz veining thru drab grey rock before fiery gaze flickers and lingers back upon the stranger. ridgeback tries to visualize what it would look like — no doubt a mess, at least at first — and finds that try as he might, he cannot. still, he cannot pretend that he isn't fascinated by the idea. i'll have to give it a try. when — if — he ever settled down ...and by settle down it is meant joined a pack ...he thinks he would like to try his paw at that. at creating a frankenstein tree of his own, if only to see what the end result of his creation might be. lets. ridgeback murmurs in agreement, chest puffing slightly as he draws in a breath and holds it before after a small exhale, gestures for the stranger to take the lead.

tysm for the kudos!

urias is one step ahead of him— with cautious strides, he lets the darkness take him. he looks back to glance at the stranger. his eyes glint a perfect yellow and his pupils are white with eyeshine. everytime his nails click on the floor, a faint echo answers him. deep inside a cave, it was easy to go insane. your brain on overdrive manufacturing away whatever it's able to, just to keep your mind off of the pitch-black. how many people had died just a few meters away from the surface?
what's your name? he asks as the weak light dims. the world was in monochrome now. his nocturnal eyes strain to keep up. i'm urias. he gasps as his foot slips into a shallow puddle, and laughs at himself. the cold wetness lingers.

you're welcome! ♥

it is easy to follow after the other man, sure to maintain enough distance that they were not in danger of bumping into one another but not too far that he would lose the stranger. it is an easy line to balance upon. ears cup forth, cursory glimpse given to the rear end of the shadow seen as a ghosting silhouette in the abysmal darkness of the tunnel. ridgeback. he replies simply, an unseen shrug given. pause is given at the splash of his companion's — urias, he has introduced himself as — paw slipping into a puddle. steps resume soon enough and ridgeback, knowing now that it is there, avoids following in the spelunker leader's footfalls. i wonder where these tunnels will lead us. he muses a bit rhetorically, not really expecting an answer.

ridgeback. what a fitting name. he's more than willing to bet that he'd picked it out for himself. he stores his face and name in his mind, a card snug inside a wallet's pocket. his ears flick back. he's careful now, not wanting to get his feet more sodden than they already are. he wipes one sole on a patch of grass. there is barely enough light now for the quartz crystals to reflect. well, i'm looking for someone. maybe they're in here, he jokes. have any siblings, ridgeback? if he had street-smarts like urias thought he did, maybe he'd see what was implied by the question, by the half-assed quip.

the news that the stranger is looking for someone goes acknowledged but generally brushed under the rug. easily, a quip of aren't we all dances upon the tip of his tongue but ridgeback bites it back. he is glad he does so in the following moments when the question of siblings comes about. ah, thinks the wayfarer. he seeks a long lost sibling. a natural assumption to make as he draws the lines of connection in his mind. a few. an understatement. spartan was nothing if not a ...virile man and has ensured over his numerous years of prosperity that he had many strong sons and daughters to further the bloodline and fight for his throne when he is nothing but decaying flesh and bleaching bones.

any of them— he grunts as he rears back on two legs, examining the sloping wall— worth mentioning? he rubs his head over the stone, marking it with his smell. just in case. he was a cautious man. when he had explored caves, he would keep to the right hand side and only turn right at the forks in the road. to leave, he'd only have to turn around and go left. old habits died hard. 
the cave bottlenecks into a smaller corridor, just enough for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. up ahead, the chitter and chatter of bats. these hallways had been carved out by thousands of years of water. ozymandias and his ruined face came to mind.

a suspicious rise of brow is given; a terse press of his lips, ears tapering back ever-so-slightly as urias appears to take an interest in ridgeback's sibling situation. perhaps it's just idle conversation and ridgeback is just being absurdly protective. regardless, protective is how he feels though all of his siblings are more than capable of keeping themselves if not safe than alive at the very least. my littermate is my favorite, in particular. the others were older — some by a span of years that made them far from interesting to ridgeback. why the interest? ridgeback cannot stop himself from asking, fiery gaze focusing on the moving silhouette of urias as he continues to lead their expedition deeper into the tunnel system.

in the pursed lips, the skeptical brows, the ears folded back. he could feel it without having to see it. in the hesitation, the minced words, the question. why not? he breathes, turned away. his voice, soft as it was, wrests some of the bats from their roosts. the flap of black on black, it brushes his hair off of his face.
littermate. an answer that wasn't really an answer. why wouldn't you be closest with your littermate? he chews at his lip. two trains of thought rattle through his mind. one, don't bullshit a bullshitter. two, this is all just smoke and mirrors.
he walks in silence. the air is damp and occasionally there is a breeze as if the cave is breathing its own laboured breaths. he was never good at small talk.

to ridgeback, his past, his siblings — all of it — is a yawn fest. though not forgotten, it doesn't feel like it belongs in this second series; ruminations of a time passed. it doesn't occur to him that others might not feel the same way. they don't really matter, at least, not in the sense of 'here and now'. they aren't here. he clarifies with a shrug and a twitch of his lips; ridgeback's tone suggests that he grows bored with their current topic of conversation. an bat skims his ear on it's plight for another, less talkative area to sleep and, for a second, ridgeback considers snapping at it before letting it go and trudging onwards in the footsteps of his companion.

was it that this place just had a lot of realists living in it? or was it that usually realists were the ones who survived into adulthood? everyone he'd met so far had been the living and breathing equivalent of a swiss-army knife. where did all the young dreams go?
in the end, the onus fell onto his shoulders to guide this hulking conversation where he saw fit. he furrows his brows in the dark. that's ok. the past is the past. i don't even know what the hell that means.
thinking of joining a pack, then? he directs the topic into the future. the smell of bats grows stronger. he coughs, feels a pang in his head. please don't let this be a headache.

the past is the past.

ridgeback grunts his agreement; a nonverbal 'i know'. he wasn't on the run but he doesn't necessarily wish to wallow over how he doesn't measure up to his numerous siblings. this is his chapter. his story. perhaps, ridgeback says. this time he does not mean to be vague. simply, it is a reflection of the fact that he hasn't spent a lot of time thinking about that aspect. it seems logical: wolves were social creatures after all and while he enjoys answering to himself there is a certain ache of loneliness that will not heal even with the stretch of time. not that, mind, he's of a mood to admit that. i haven't really given any of them much thought.

and then because it only seems fair; what about you?

once again he'd fished for an answer, a real answer, and he'd come up with nothing. irritation flicks over his face but it's impossible to see in the dark. someone knowing more about him than he did about them, it'd always grated on him.
not so much a pack, he considers. more like a job. he stops and runs his hand over the smooth rock. a draft picks up, bringing the smell of stale air and bats back to him. and like i mentioned, i'm mainly looking for my uh, sister. he turns to ridgeback. the meagre light shades his face.
his forehead, brows, all tense and wrinkled, a tooth snagging on the side of his lip, the textbook expression of a man deep in thought, tortured and conflicted by his own mental loops. he sighs. i'm worried about her. just up and left one day. haven't seen her in months.

so you're a mercenary? a pause is given. a man for hire? he offers for further explanation, wondering how exactly something like that works. he knows the principles behind it but it sounds ...like a lot of work; always withholding loyalty. never knowing who to trust. it wasn't the kind of life he wants to lead ...but to each their own. a glimpse is given, idle — not that ridgeback can see more than a nose space in front of him — as he contemplates urias' words. would his littermate be missing ...surely he would be worried too. but, maybe he wouldn't. he doubts anyone worries about him — wouldn't want them to if they did. i get it. ridgeback murmurs then and heaves a sigh. well, here's to hoping you find her soon, mate. he says in a robust, jovial tone; wincing as it echoes back at him and is answered back by the protesting screech of a bat.

mercenary. it was a dirty word, a bloodstained word. he picks it up and examines it in his mind as someone finding a ziplock bag of indeterminate powder would. the pay is decent. he says, after a few moments of deliberation. but one day i'm gonna settle down. start a family.
his ears flick at ridgeback's words of encouragement. he does his best to catch his eye in the dark, smiling and nodding, although he knows its probably invisible. thanks, urias turns back around, walks forwards with his shoulder against the wall. mate. the sound of rain had long since been replaced by the staccato of water dripping off of stalactices.
finding tzila was not a matter of if, but when. she was old enough to know better. everything he'd done, after all, he'd done for family.

the pay is decent.

ridgeback is half tempted to ask what exactly he was being paid in. food? shelter? women? men ...whichever he favored? stops himself before temptation further makes a total ass out of him. it wasn't his business, really and he wasn't looking to enter a similar contract. though a trained warrior being a 'tooth for hire' wasn't on his agenda. not that he really had much of agenda, mind. build a frankenstein tree? ridgeback quips teasingly if only because that was the first thing he intended to do ...after he settled down in a pack, of course. a soft snort leaves ridgeback as the word 'mate' is returned to him but instead of quipping about it, he keeps to his silence, content to follow along.

ha. you know, you might be onto something there. he swerves and brushes against the wall. it's all very methodical. take care of it until you die...then get your kids to take care of it...then their kids... his voice trickles off into a pensive hum. one day you'll have this massive tree. you could get lost in the branches, even.
it did feel nice.
it felt nice to have a conversation like this. building up from a completely blank slate— it calmed him. unfettered from any previous impressions. seeing how far he could stretch the truth before it broke and snapped back at him.
he's pleased at the fact that ridgeback has remembered his little tale of the patchwork tree. he allows himself the liberty of a single swish of his tail.

it was a strange thing to consider; that a frankenstien tree could long survive him. pass down the care of the tree to generation after generation. a physical marker of how his family could grow and branch off just as spartan had done and his parents had done before him. a physical representation of the disarinno line that ridgeback is but a mere leaf of. not a bad idea. he murmurs in quiet agreement as their path continues. a physical family tree. each new generation could add a branch. it's a nice idea ...if a bit fanciful. but just maybe ...if he did settle down someday he might actually go thru with it.

fading here, tysm for the thread!

deeper and deeper into the caverns, being pushed through an intestinal tract, funneling down a bloodstream as a piece of hemoglobin on a cell— he creates metaphors and crushes them together like it's nothing.
he hums in lieu of an answer, his mouth set in a thin and thoughtful line. these things had always fascinated him. art and science coming together to shake hands, and he's always wondering which one is going to let go first. so many other stories about frankenstein things. but they could wait.
inevitably, hunger and thirst draw the two back up towards the surface. everything is so white-blonde overexposed and it takes a while before he remembers how it feels like to not be squinting.