Urna's legs and lungs burned. She was built for the open plains, and even managed well enough in sparse forest or in the shallow swamps of the region she now called home.
But sheer cliffs?
Best left to the goats, she thought sullenly. The scree beneath her front right paw shifted suddenly, sending a clattering cascade of gravel and flaked stone down the mountainside. Urna froze, keeping her balance only by the grace of a reflexive tentacle snared around a nearby outcropping.
She caught her breath (the air was too thin, up here) and eased herself onto the next solid portion of the ascent. Nearly there. She grit her teeth and lowered her head against the cold, dry wind.
It was Ohr's fault she was up here. Or no, it was for Ohr that she was up here. The signs had shifted, lately. The message was there in every bone she cracked, straining to be heard and heeded. Go forth. The visions in the smoke hinted at something vast and powerful, felt but not seen, like the warmth of a wildebeest's hide on her whiskers.
She dreamt of a hunt like no other.
An Enchanted Beast wandered the lands of Argaia once more, and it fell to Ohr's servants to secure it for their deity.
So here she was, climbing the bluffs, following that inexorable pull up to see the land unspooled beneath her. If there was no sign of the beast here, maybe there was some sign or pattern in the view that would help decide where to focus efforts next.
The ground leveled, and Urna threw herself belly-down on the plateau in gratitude. "Thank the gods," she muttered into the dirt.
But sheer cliffs?
Best left to the goats, she thought sullenly. The scree beneath her front right paw shifted suddenly, sending a clattering cascade of gravel and flaked stone down the mountainside. Urna froze, keeping her balance only by the grace of a reflexive tentacle snared around a nearby outcropping.
She caught her breath (the air was too thin, up here) and eased herself onto the next solid portion of the ascent. Nearly there. She grit her teeth and lowered her head against the cold, dry wind.
It was Ohr's fault she was up here. Or no, it was for Ohr that she was up here. The signs had shifted, lately. The message was there in every bone she cracked, straining to be heard and heeded. Go forth. The visions in the smoke hinted at something vast and powerful, felt but not seen, like the warmth of a wildebeest's hide on her whiskers.
She dreamt of a hunt like no other.
An Enchanted Beast wandered the lands of Argaia once more, and it fell to Ohr's servants to secure it for their deity.
So here she was, climbing the bluffs, following that inexorable pull up to see the land unspooled beneath her. If there was no sign of the beast here, maybe there was some sign or pattern in the view that would help decide where to focus efforts next.
The ground leveled, and Urna threw herself belly-down on the plateau in gratitude. "Thank the gods," she muttered into the dirt.