Ice Mountain

The Ice Mountain is much smaller than Wolf Mountain, yet climbing up it is far more difficult and shouldn't be attempted in winter. Some creatures collect the shiny stones at the peak of this mountain for necklaces.

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The lean little Mexican wolf had made his way carefully to the Ice Mountain from the steep shelf of rock he'd chosen to do battle at. Even with the assistance of his Agile blessing, his paws had slipped a few times and he'd slid for a bit down the peak's steep face before picking himself painfully back up. Pit was perhaps in the worst of shape; one of his hind legs was quite mangled, the femur bone splintered by his opponent's powerful bite, while above that his flank was ripped, split like a seam where the leg met his body.

Leaving a trail of blood, he made his way to the mountain, aware that while the use of his Teleport blessing would probably help him it would also mean he'd faint before he reached Strider and the gathered packs. That he could not do, that kind of weakness he could not show - not now, anyway, though the dull bite at the back of his head and the circle of black framing his vision told him that he should be very careful, or he'd faint anyway. Pit made his way, spotting Strider against the snow and noting the gathering - small, but growing steadily. He sighed a little, as it seemed he was the one worst hurt - but he would not let this stop him from making an arrival.

He waited for the wind and then spread his wings wide, picked up by the gale and carried steadily over to where his pack gathered. Landing would be a problem, for while after the acquisition of his wings he'd practiced considerably so as not to look a fool, he was tired, and only had three legs to land on without causing himself even more damage. The lean grey-brown male alighted delicately onto the ground a little ways off from Strider, Rebel and the rest, yelping as he put his foot down and quickly drawing both his wounded leg and his wings close to him, keeping himself warm.

Pit made his way unsteadily forward, keeping himself at a slight and respectful distance from the royal family. He didn't want to make his terrible wound known, not particularly - his fleetness of foot had been what had put him in the pack in the first place, and he'd gotten himself hurt because he'd not been vigilant when dealing with the larger, more powerful male he'd attacked. But it was too late now, and Pitseleh had to live with what he'd done. He stood, wounded paw raised gingerly, watching his alphas and trying to let the numb cold overcome the burning, raw pain in leg.

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