The boredom and aimlessness did not suit the intelligent well. His siblings had gone off to the winds of the world and his parents were enjoying their retirement. In his short life the world of Spirane had risen, fallen, and risen again. In the change many had fled the peaks to return, to leave again, and become one with what seemed to be a constant shift. It was a strange thing to witness at such a young age but with such a mind as the one his parents had given him. He watched it, he pondered it, and he felt it. The shifts and moved and trilled and thrills. Seasons of change and seasons that stayed. In a year and half he felt the music of the world pulse through the stones he walked on. From the high peaks he could look out to the rest of the world around him, see the rhythm for which it flowed and feel harmony. The view was amazing.

As he stepped along the trails that trellised through the mountains he contemplated his place in the world and in this pack. As he had noticed, his siblings had gone to the winds and found their calling elsewhere. He could not shake a strange fondness for the mountains in which he was born. His parents had been with Spirane for stars knew how long and had carved out their unquestioned place. He felt a mild need to walk in their tracks but found neither of their paths much to his fancy. Healing was well and good, but lacked the excitement of travel and adventure. Diplomacy had that trait in spades, but his patience with other’s ignorance and stupidity would swiftly tune his tongue to something unpleasant. A year and a half he had walked these paths. A year and a half he had learned this world. A year and a half, he was slowly starting to grow into his own and into his life. It was at the tip of his nose and he merely had to take it.

Wild eyes burned orange as he looked back up to the cliffs he had just treked down. His heart beat to the rhythm of the mountains and he felt the harmony in the cold chill of the wind. Lips peeled back in a subtle smile while his gaze shifted back down. He was not yet grown, but he knew his task. Just as his parents had carved their place, he would begin to carve his. Starting, at least, with a den to be called his own.