Misty Mountain is opposite of Rainbow Cliff. Mists hover year-round at this high altitude, mistaken by some to be thin clouds. Thin layers of snow cover the mountain, making some areas slippery and hazardous.
Some think it romantic, a place to bring their mates, while others come to play and romp. However, all must agree that there is some level of mystery and spookiness hovering about with the mists...
IP: 140.254.77.182
Posted on May 5, 2016 at 07:03:22 PM by Macaria
Her sleep was not a dreamless one, nor did it do much to revive her. The poppy within her system activated her mind and sent her into a spiral of hallucinations... She was climbing the mountain, higher, higher, the shale beneath her paws breaking beneath her weight. Each step was as if she was landing upon fragile glass that then shattered, minuscule pieces tilting at every angle, some of them piercing her soft pads. Bloody paw prints were left in her wake, and the further she ascended, the steeper the slope got. At times she thought about turning back, but she couldn't, she wouldn't. If she did, she would fall down into the abyss that was riding up behind her, demons hidden in the shadows biting at her heels. But now that the mountain was nearly vertical above her, she regretted ever starting this mission, this journey, and feared the fall that she would eventually make. For she was high, high, high above the ground, and the impact of her body against the ground would crush her. She would die, probably not fast, but would see her life blood flow from her until the crimson shaded her vision... and then she would get cold, so cold... Until she ceased to exist at all in this plane of materiality and be accepted at last into Tor's maternal embrace. But Macaria feared death, she feared the inevitable truth of life - atrophy. Everything and everyone was in a constant state of decay, growing older, rotting, decomposing bit by bit and only fools thought that they were fully alive and that they could survive anything. Her paw prints gripped against the shale, the blood seeping from her pads sticking to it, and though it hurt even more, what was perhaps worse was that the shale that was now stuck to her paws took away the natural grip of her pads. The ground beneath was slipping, sliding, and then she was slipping and sliding too. The mountain disappeared and she was falling down in the cold abyss of her mind, but then suddenly pain erupted throughout her spine and it was horrible, but it was wonderful too, for if she could feel pain then surely she was alive. Forcing her eyes open - for at some point they had been firmly shut closed - and she saw sprouting from her back a set of wings, glorious ebony wings, but instead of feathers, they were plated in fur, a continual extension of her body, and her falling ceased. Instead she was flying higher and higher, and finally she flew over the peak of the mountain, through the dampness of the clouds and was suddenly blinded by the bright rays of the sun! Fluttering lids tried to awaken the fae, but at the same time tried to block out the sun. Macaria slowly became aware of her own sense of being and took a deep breath, hoping that the oxygen would clear her mind of its slumbering lowered consciousness, but it was her stomach that fully awoke her. The rich stench of coney swept in through her nares and she lunged forward, taking the dead hare in her mouth and tore into it, relishing in its taste. It was the first full meal that she had had in a long while for it was a plump hare, but it was stripped from the bone within a single minute. Licking her chops clean, her orange eyes swept her surroundings, trying to get her bearing until she became aware of a seated figure that was staring down upon her. Slowly, Macaria straightened until she was seated and stared at the stranger. "I thank you, miss, for the meal. I must repay you for the kindness, just tell me how. My name is Macaria..." |
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