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.

|BLACK|WATER| (reserved)
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The air was frigid; a sharp drop in temperature from the day before ending the week of unseasonably warm weather. The general mountain range had gone from forty degrees down to around ten overnight. Combined with the sudden dryness of the air and the faint smell of static, the mountain population was preparing for a rather nasty winter storm. It was quiet, now, as most retreated to dens and hideaways; still except for the lone snowflake drifting to the ground here or there… And, funny enough, except for the giant black wolf that was barreling over the ice-hardened ground with a grin about his childishly deviant face.

Icy blue eyes were alight with energy as the large paws cascaded over the slick surface of the rocky mountain path, his footing sure and movements quite graceful for a creature his size. The majestic flow of his stride was thrown slightly off by the tongue that wiggled its way out the corner of his mouth, trailing in the wind as he ran. The rocky trail was growing steeper, a dusting of snow showing ahead as he made the climb up Ice Mountain Peak. Now, most would not be trekking the jagged, snowy mountain on the instance of a large storm. But this wasn’t most wolves. This was Black Rain.

The Ice Pack alpha pushed himself up the icy slope at a dangerous speed, his sensitive nose twitching to make sure he was still on his intended course. Sure, he could use a blessing to help him track his target, but despite the brute’s wealth of power, he felt it necessary to keep the old gears oiled. He was one to know that life had a way of putting landing you on your haunches, in the middle of the worst fight of your life, with nothing but your own tooth and claw to cover your hide. It had happened to him more than once.

The scent was growing faint; he had gotten a little off course. The large, black wolf skidded to a halt, precariously close to a drop-off over the side of the trail, and sniffed around in a circle quickly. After back tracking a few yards and re-walking the scent’s path, the big brute was left again where the smell faded. Tricky little minx, she was. Black Rain turned his head up, icy blue eyes narrowing into the narrow pines that towered here and there. With the harsh winter sun and dull gray and white surroundings, the red wolfess was bound to stick out like a sore thumb.


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