Sex: MaleThirst clawed at Mouseling's throat, each dry swallow making him wince. His tongue burned from licking the mountain ice and receiving little water for the effort. He stumbled down yet another cliff. His nose twitched as he caught the scent of water, of life. He had been traveling for so long that he thought it was surely his mind playing tricks on him. Still, he followed it. If it was real, then he would have some respite from the mountain. If it was a hallucination, well... He wouldn't be finding other water anyway.
The sparse trees had been a small comfort. They shielded him from the bright sun and made the snow more bearable to look at. He had tried nibbling their needles, and earned only a bitter taste in his mouth.
He came to the edge of yet another sharp cliff. At first, he expected to see more bleak mountainside beneath him, maybe even the land below. Instead, swaths of blue and green filled his vision, so brilliant he thought it must be fake. Mouseling nearly fell over the edge as he stared down in awe at the clearing below. A glittering lake and lush grass. His paws ached as he remembered the last time he'd walked on grass.
He eyed the sheer stone, looking for any path he could walk down with ease. There were small footholds here and there in the wall, but none consistent enough to make the trip down easy. He sighed and prepared himself to climb down. He had no other choice, his thirst growing by the minute in the cold, dry air.
Mouseling crouched and aimed for the first of the holds in the rock. He leaped, and managed to land mostly upright. He clung to the rock with his claws, toes spread wide to keep his hold on them. He tried to ignore the vertigo so high above the ground. The next few steps were shaky, but he gained confidence as he scaled down the cliff. His grip never loosened.
He was halfway down when he missed the next jump.
His heart seized and he tried to pull back up, but it was too late. Mouseling yelped as he tipped forward and hit the cliff with his chest. His desperate scrabbling at the stone did nothing to stop him as he slid down. The rough stone scratched at his belly. His paw hit a sharp corner, and he pulled it back as pain welled in the pad.
The wolf tumbled down the rest of the way and landed on the ground with a groan. If he wasn't in pain before, he certainly was now. His body would surely bruise from the rough landing.
He tried to stand but his legs refused to support him. He wobbled and fell back over. When he finally managed to sit up, he noticed blood smeared across the rocks, and his paw still stung. He licked up the crimson welling between the pads. He sat there for a long moment, considering his options. He could smell wolves near by, but he doubted whether it was a good idea to call attention to himself. If the wolves were unfriendly, then he was in no state to escape or fight back.
(This post was last modified: Mar 10, 2024, 02:44 PM by Mouseling.
Edit Reason: Tagging Flywolf as Nash
)
