Misty Mountain is opposite of Rainbow Cliff. Mists hover year-round at this high altitude, mistaken by some to be thin clouds. Thin layers of snow cover the mountain, making some areas slippery and hazardous.
Some think it romantic, a place to bring their mates, while others come to play and romp. However, all must agree that there is some level of mystery and spookiness hovering about with the mists...
IP: 76.243.46.249
Posted on April 16, 2013 at 02:36:42 AM by l o s a
 | |
She waited like a crouched eagle, talons curled around the precipice of the sheer stone cliff; her body folded downward in a delicately balanced pose; large sable ears stood erect; mismatched eyes trained with unwavering focus upon the band of strangers as they trespassed, narrowing slightly as they moved. They knew this land was claimed—every wolf that passed through here knew—but still they brazenly ignored her scent-markers, polluting the crisp mountain air with their snide, smoggy voices. Even from her vantage point, high above the intruders, Losa could see the cockiness in their faces. They were daring her to make an appearance. In their arrogant minds the lone she-wolf who had so painstakingly painted her perfume along boulders and trees was nothing to worry about. A mere trifle, easily dealt with. Weak. How wrong they were. Losa valiantly subdued the savage growl that wanted to rip past her teeth. It trembled in her chest, trying to escape—but the espresso-hued wolfess knew she must stay hidden in order to keep the element of surprise. Stealth had always been a strong suit of the lithe creature; her entire frame was a blueprint for efficiency and speed, all graceful angles and lines, her sinews sewn with lovely precision over a fine skeleton. Losa might not be capable of heavy berserk attacks . . . but force had as much to do with speed as it did muscle, and Losa could hit fast. If only she could drive them toward the ravine, far away from her den, then maybe she would stand a chance . . . Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest when the wind changed. It leapt suddenly behind her, pushing her scent out over the crag and mixing it with falling snow. Damn. Losa dropped her crouch lower. Her hackles threatened to spike as the distant group of trespassers paused, noticing a warmer note on the air, their voices growing louder as lusty excitement stirred their blood— And Losa was off, rocketing away as swiftly as though she had wings. “Idiot,” the fleet princess muttered to herself. “They almost saw you—what would you do then? Bite them? Bad idea, bad idea . . .” She slalomed effortlessly past a group of huge rocks jutting from the ground, obscuring the path to the cave she had adopted as her new home; with any luck, the rugged, slippery ground would mask her prints and make it difficult for any outlaws to follow her. “I probably could have taken the on . . . whatever.” At last Losa made it to her hideaway: an ingeniously concealed den deep within a fissure of granite. This had been the bird’s impromptu—and then permanent—nest while she awaited the return of her One. With a deep sigh, Losa arched her spine and pressed catlike against the slick wall of the entrance, transferring her exotic signature so that any creature lucky enough to stumble upon this covert spot would instantly know it was hers. Well . . . hers and Hurricanes. Hopefully. No—definitely! This time Losa’s snarl shredded up her throat and echoed dangerously in the cave, defying her insecurity. Hurricane had said he was coming back, so he was coming back. End of story. Losa had nurtured her love and loyalty for him all these months that he’d been away, preparing the den, marking out the territory for privacy, adapting to the mountain’s cruel whims and tricks like a true little soldier. Still growling, Losa stalked from the cave and trotted up to higher ground, alert for any sign of those pesky intruders. The wind had changed again—always unpredictable—so their mixed musk seemed inconsequential. Pah. They’d probably given up on finding her and were dragging their pathetic, slimy tails back down to the foothills. Stupid mongrels. Losa pawed the ground, claws digging deep trenches in the snow. Just let them try to mess with her, she’d slice them into bits and use their pelts as a carpet and . . . wait. Topaz-and-emerald jewels opened wide in shock. One of the fiends was walking up one of her trails! Teeth abruptly glittered from the girl’s ferociously parted maw. She was done with her days of terror and heartache. No more cowering. Losa was going to make whatever foolish stranger was crashing her gates rue the day he was ever born. Except— “Hurricane?” The name tumbled from her velvet lips by accident—yet the instant she spoke it, Losa knew it was true. The thundercloud form trudging tirelessly up the frigid mountain was her One, her love, her rock and confidant and beloved punching bag. Joy so bright and intense it left Losa breathless surged in an overwhelming white-hot tide into the core of her soul. She was running before she remembered how to move. She screamed his name again like a triumphant war cry. “HURRICANE!” The world disappeared—there was only him—Losa was blind to all else as she erased the last few yards between them and tackled the dark gladiator in a massive, violent embrace, knocking both wolves into a tangle of limbs and fur. She showered him with kisses—and when those didn’t express her heart well enough she switched to fierce and passionate love-bites all up and down his neck, relishing the delicious taste of his night-black fur. “I FUCKING LOVE YOU, YOU BASTARD, I LOVE YOU!” | |
Replies:
- . : In A Faraway L A N D : . - By Hurricane of Mexico April 19, 2013 at 01:25:49 PM
got a s e c r e t - By l o s a April 25, 2013 at 07:15:28 PM
Post a reply:
<--
-->