Climbing The Mountain
#1
Once again Einarr found himself in the northern territories, this time however he was not standing atop the cliffs, but pressing his body against them. The grizzled optime male clung to slippery rocks as wound flicked his mane around crazily and spray soaked him. His grey fur hugged his figure, revealing muscle and scars alike, droplets clung to his eyelashes and salt stung his eyes, tears leaking from the corners of them because of the irritation, but to try to wipe them would have been pointless and dangerous.

Once again the waves were pounding the cliffs, the wind, while mild upon the cliff tops, howled around him in a violent attempt to sweep him from their face and into the ocean. Finding a new footing, Einarr pushed himself higher, his hands re-adjusting and weight settling into a new position. There had been little sense in this, other than for the pure joy of it, not at all like the tactician he was trying to leave behind. His heart beat with the effort of the climb, and his muscles screamed with effort, another climb, another adjustment, one step closer to the top.

The stone came away, his hand swinging free, a clatter of stone and a dizzying moment of uncertainty before his claws dug painfully into the rock. For a moment he remained perfectly still, his eyes focused only on the rock. Quickly he regained his focused, pushing all doubt and fear away and feeling it leak out and into the rock itself. Finally he reached the top, and dragged his bedraggled and aching body to the top. He sniffed the air, and looked around, ensuring there was no danger nearby before lowering himself to the ground and allowing his muscles to recover.


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