rocky road

He continued on, best he could. The snow would come in waves, a hindrance to his travels during the wintertime. He had hoped to find a suitable location to settle, but there were too many wolves around the mountains to feel like he had a part of it originally found. Instead, he found he drifted from one place to the next. Never truly settling down, casually speaking to others. No connections formed. He didn't like it. Part of why he left his family, and to the extent, he believed his world too, was to be free. 

He couldn't be free with his father breathing down his neck, controlling what little friends he had made. His family was another manner entirely though. He didn't truly miss them, so wrapped around wealth and power that they cared little for their own kin. It was a game to them. Acquiring more of the two, playing others, and using them... Tate hadn't liked it one bit. He only hoped his absence shocked some sense into them. He doubted it though. All he wanted was something to proudly call his own.

"Ah!" he slipped on some thin ice, cutting a paw pad. He sucked in a breath, the pain ebbing and flowing. The young man shut his eyes, refusing to see the blood. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to spark some discomfort. He didn't like the liquid, even if it was life-giving. I wasn't paying attention... Tate uttered to himself. Hobbling to the side, he carefully sat down and began to lick the dirt and travel from his paw. The taste of blood was disgusting to him, but he tried to clean his paw pad first.

No infection on his watch! He wasn't a healer, but he could do this much.

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Asamir wandered, adrift.

His family had disappeared past the edges of Cloudrest and never returned. Disappeared, as quickly as they had come. The mountain was not home without them there, so the young man had left, allowing time and others to reclaim the peaks he had once sought to memorize, for his mother’s sake.

In some ways, he missed the towering heights of Cloudrest. He had felt among the stars up there. Down here, he just felt very small. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing — but Asamir missed the feeling of being close to greatness that the mountains had given him.

Oh well.

He heard a shout, then saw the man. A tall, pale fellow. Asamir turned his ears towards him.

“Everything alright, sir?” he called out, boyish and gentle.
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"Yes" he answered, almost immediate. Sucking in a churning stomach, he licked the revolting taste of his own blood and found release (and distraction) in answering the other young man. He had looked up, eyes on their storm-like form. Thankfully, the blood seemed to almost stop. He was relieved he didn't have to taste it anymore! "Yes, I am fine. Thank you." Sir was he? Barely older than this one. The thought was amusing.

He gingerly placed the cut paw against the sparse snowy ground. The cold made him gasp lightly, but it would clean the rest of the dirt and blood off. It could even stop the flow of the blood with the chill. At least he knew that much; warmth to clean and make it flow, cold to stop it from dripping. It'd seize his muscles up, refusing to drip. "I merely cut my paw pad" he explained "but it's fine now. I think, anyway." He squinted down at the affronting leg as if it'd stick a tongue at him.

It did not. Good. "Be careful here" he cautioned the other man "there are various sharp stones, hidden."

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