The forest of Fir Chilis proved to be boring and uneventful. So he turned away from the forest, heading towards the moutains of Culter unlaedodd. He had glanced upon the peaks from afar, their snowy white peaks glistening in the early morning sun. Even though the very tops of the moutain were heavily coated with snow, it seemed the lower trailers were holding onto fall. In the early morning, even with fall still holding onto the trees, the air this high up felt chilly. Not as cold as the time he had slipped on a rock while crossing a river and fell in. He didn’t like the feel of that, the feel of his coat drying off. It was not the most comfortable.
The closer Dracarys moved towards the mountains the more vast and intimidating they appeared. The mid-morning sun began to peak above the trees as the large wolf made his way up a deer trail. The higher he climb the more the terrain beneath his paws changed from soft, moist ground to a rougher, rockier terrain. As Dracarys climbs higher the thinner the air around him felt, his breaths much deeper as his lungs work harder to provide oxygen. A huff of his own breath briefly clouded his vision, the icy tendrils swirling around him until they dissipated into the air around him. Distracted by his own breath, Dracarys had not noticed the soft mist falling around him. The droplets started out small and barely noticeable but as he climbed higher the droplets increase in size until his pelt seemed to shimmer.
A smile plays across the brute’s lips as he comes to a ledge, his eye lids growing heavier with each step. He should be uncomfortable with the rain weighing his coat down, he should be turning around and heading back down the trails toward safer ground. But he wants to stay, he wants to curl up and let the magical water caress his body. Dracarys lowers his body to the ground, his head falling to the ground with a soft thud as his eye lids grow too heavy to keep open.
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