Hideaway Strath or my mother wished she'd had a son?
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He was up among the cliffs today.

Aquillius walked them often, these days. With Valiria and his father among their number, he was driven to claim, to ram his scent so thickly along these cliffs that no one dared come near. His bobcat skull, his method of driving away witches, was still getting ready. Whitening in the sun, the last patches of skin stretched leathery across the cheeks. Soon, he’d mount it below.

He was up on what could be described as a goat trail, picking his way very carefully towards the front of the strath. He held his tail straight for balance, but it didn’t help him much in the end. In a huff, he half slid, half rolled the remaining several feet down to the ground, landing with a thud and a hiss. It took him a half moment to rise, blinking owlishly up at the sky.

He looked back up at the goat trail, before Aquillius swung his path back to the front side of the strath all over again.