Summer was killer. Tychon’s thick fur was best suited to cooler temperatures, so (hold your breath) something he actually enjoyed were the altitudes of Spirane. To have tundra accessible at any time of the year was a serious plus. And while summer was miserable in the lowlands, it unlocked the peaks of the mountains. He finished the treacherous, jagged the boarder loop out towards the sea, and decided to treat himself to an evening on the mountain peaks, overlooking the territory he just covered. Maybe he’d even catch the sunset; Masque would be happy to her he was still trying to understand the “magic” she thought was in everything. It was stupid puppy nonsense, but it gave him a subject to argue about with her.

Tychon huffed as he sprung up several feet of jagged rocks unto a narrow, but walkable path. While he hadn’t grown up on the mountainside, his constant movement among them had forced him into sure-footedness. He’d never accomplish the grace with which Daenerys, Nymeria, or Kalseru navigated the difficult paths, but he could run circles around just about anyone else with the knowledge he’d gained from exploration. When he first arrived in Spirane, he thought “scout” would be nice so that he’d be free to visit the freelands whenever he wanted. As it turned out, his home was all the travel he needed; there were still thousands of untaken paths in them.

The chocolate and tan colored male scaled the mountain at a leisurely pace, and neared the lookout point near sunset. He paused to yawn and stretch his legs out. He stiffened with shock when the dark form of Kalseru catapulted into view from the opposite side of the mountain and charged the edge of the cliff. Tychon’s mouth dropped wide and he trotted two paces after her, intending to grab her scruff to keep her from falling to her death. But she skidded to a stop at the edge, the nails of her forepaws perfectly tangent to the edge of the thousands of feet drop.

What the hell!?! Tychon mind screamed, but he contained the exclamation; he knew the “Mountainborne” and their foolish pride in being able to do stupid things in the mountains that no sane wolf would ever do. He glanced out over the sea to observe what she was so enamored with. He saw the ocean greedily dousing a dying sun’s flames. He shrugged and fished his ascent.

“Hi,” he greeted as he pulled himself up the last step. He was pleased with the short word; he was nearly able to produce it at a normal volume with minimal rasping. Tychon padded out to her left side (to hide the worst of his lip mutilation) and sat down a safe paws distance from the doom she was tempting. Then second part was less impressive and came in a strangled mess, “Favorite spot?”