At one point in time, Misty Mountain stood opposite of Rainbow Cliff, and these rose to the sky as the only peaks in Blossom Forest. Since the magical change of the land, an entire chain of peaks rose from the bowels of the earth to become the Culter Unlaeddod - the Teeth of the Gods. Misty Mountain is still of the peaks, but many others exist as well. They run from north to south, from east to west. Atop some of the peaks, snow covers them year round, making the paths slippery and hazardous. Others are lower in altitude and are extremely humid, covered in thick, dense forests with mists swirling between each of the trunks. Others still are bare - naked boulders rising and falling haphazardly.

These chains of peaks do connect many of the packs, and they hold many things to explore - forbidden forests, deep and mysterious caves, beautiful scenic cliffs. However, one must have care - if you fall, it is a long, long, long way down...

Due to the varying terrains, many prey options are available. For those scared of injury, you may find ptarmigans, ravens, crows, squirrels, dormice, or rabbits. The adults hunting alone can find mountain goats... but for those hunting in a pack, there are elk, moose, and Bighorn Sheep.

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There was very little left of the night. Dawn threatened as a pale pink glow along the horizon, gently blurring the stars closest to the skyline into nothingness. Already the air was coming alive with the voices of unseen birds heralding the approach of the new day, and the gentle sighing of a light breeze through the treetops far below. From his position on the western face of the mountain, however, Auron could see none of this. Trapped in a bank of fog that had collected overnight, in fact, he could see little more than what lay directly in front of him. He felt a shiver of unease race down his spine. The rocky terrain had grown slick beneath his feet from the condensation in the air, the same moisture collecting in droplets on the tips of his dense black coat. How long had he been wandering blindly in this fog? Minutes? Hours? It had been long past midnight when he had wandered restlessly out of the forest, homesick and unable to sleep. The mountains, at their base no more than gentle slopes, had seemed ideal for a little late-night exploring, a great way to burn off some excess nervous energy, but as he had pressed onward the terrain had grown rapidly steeper and more barren. Head bent, focusing on the shifting rocks beneath his feet, he had not noticed the descending fog until it lay thick and opaque around him, and by then backing down the way he had come was out of the question; it would have been suicide to try to descend the sheer, unfamiliar rock face blind. No, it had seemed safer to continue on, picking his way with painful caution up the steep stony path. He had hoped that before long he would be able to climb his way out of the obscuring bank of fog, but that had been hours ago. Or had it been only minutes? It was impossible to tell.

His breath stirred the mist before his maw into agitated whirls that danced maddeningly across his vision. Everything was white. Everywhere he looked, just white, an impenetrable wall that surrounded him on all sides. The silence, too, was oppressive. The shifting of pebbles underfoot, even the sound of his own breathing, everything was muted, dampened. The shiver of unease came again, stronger this time, and he paused in his upward struggle to attempt to calm himself. It was useless to try to look around to get his bearings, so instead he squeezed his eyes shut, listening to his pulse, racing from exertion, counting his breaths. Being trapped here in all this silent whiteness, it reminded him of the winters back home in the tundra. Suddenly he was a pup again, huddled against his brothers and sisters for warmth deep in their family den. A few flakes of snow danced in through the entrance, and every now and then a gust of wind would howl eerily over the rough opening in the rock, but inside they were warm and safe enough. He remembered how excited he would always been when the first real snowfalls of the season came, how he and his siblings would play, chasing the snowflakes as the driftly lazily through the frigid air while his parents and the rest of the pack adults prepared for the long haul ahead. Those first few days of winter were always fun, but before long the adults were ushering them underground into the tiny, cramped dens to wait out the winter proper. For weeks on end he was trapped, pressed up against the others, their breath thick, hot and damp in the stagnant air. Their was little to eat and even less to talk about. By the season's end they were at each other's throats. No matter how harsh the winter, when the spring came his pack had always voted unanimously to stay another year in the tundra, always forcasting the the coming winter would be easier than the last. That was until...until Ryker. He had been too young at the time to actually remember much of what happened, but the story had been passed down for many seasons as a cautionary tale. Ryker had been one of the pack's alpha, a loyal mate, father of four, and a brilliant hunter. Well-liked and respected by all. But one year, in the midst of a particularly hard winter, he had snapped. Driven mad with hunger and boredom, he had starting killing off his pups as they slept. The entire pack was woken that night by the sound of his mate's anguished howls and the sound of their ensuing fight. Auron had been terrified, burying his head under his paws and squeezing his eyes shut tight, willing the awful noises to stop. The adults had rushed from their dens to defend his mate, Kaiya, as the pups remained huddled underground, paralyzed with terror. Together they had been able to drive the maddened alpha off. Kaiya had sustained only minor wounds, but of the pups only one had survived.

Standing now on the mountain's face, trapped in the unyeilding blankness of the fog, he could have sworn that in the distance he heard again poor Kaiya's wails. His amber eyes snapped open, straining into the fog until stars danced across his vision, but of course he could make out nothing. Damn this fog! He lept forward, jaws agap in a snarl, crashing through the wall of cloud before him. He very nearly lost his footing on the damp rock, but recovered before falling. He tossed his large head from side to side, jaws snapping open and shut at the tendrils of mist in a desperate attempt to clear the area around him, but the fog curled back in just as quickly as he could disperse it. His snarl of rage and frustration deepened in his chest, until finally he tossed his head back and loosed a long howl, harsh with desperation and the pain of long-buried memories.

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