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...

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Ivan was still slightly shaky after walking away from the hallucination, afraid to look behind him for the fact that he might still see it there. But, of course, he wasn't scared. He doesn't get scared. Or worried. Or paranoid. Never. Netvarkai had broken all those useless feelings out of him, so he could get to be as powerful as he is today. Because he'd been willing, at the time. Ah, the price of being young, gullible, and power-hungry... He should have known that the old exile was the enemy, but he was blinded. Blinded by his own wanting. Wanting, that left him with nothing besides being Netvarkai's pawn for playing out his revenge...

Ivan sighed, this wasn't the time for such thoughts. He was far, far south of his homeland, where no one could possibly have known about what had happened, and what he had done to his old, Russian pack.

That was when he heard footsteps behind him, pausing slightly before continuing to move forward, and letting the other follow him for a while. He then heard their words, gritting his teeth a bit at the impossible smoothness of her tone. There were old scars across his throat that stung more as he heard that utter perfection of a voice float up to his ears.
"Dear demon, what brings you to these parts?"

"What brought me here? My own feet." Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the she wolf behind him. "What does it matter to you?"


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