It's been a long, bumpy ride sittin' back in the saddle.
      Today was the day. Heart aflutter with excitement--or was it fear?--the thing had gone last night to make preparations. In the yawning darkness, the thing had scoured the mountain in its entirety. Moving with a swift deftness that had come from many private trips as these. The Hill was familiar, now, and navigating its cracks and crevices came in leaps and bounds. Sure-footed, the thing had become, in this uncertain place where the wind seemed to enjoy battering its victims--just to see if they'd fall. But, quickly the thing had moved, here and there, scenting the air, careful to leave little trace of itself behind. No point in leaving remains. When it found the resting place of the glittering gems, strung on steel chains, it had scarcely breathed until one of them hung from a single canine tooth. Then, as quickly as it had come, the thing disappeared with the shadows.
      The rising sun, blinking into the waking world, shed its light on a figure that sat alone at the very peak of the Hill. Perched upon its highest point, a small rock on a small plateau, the thing was poised like a statue--a gargoyle wrought of marble and obsidian. Its back stained with the blood-red of the morning rays, the silhouette shifting in pricks and pokes as the fur was buffeted by the immense wind. And from its maw, angled perfectly to catch and reflect the growing sunlight, hung a necklace with a Wind gem attached to it. Sparkling only inches from the one seated round the gargoyle's neck. And its eyes, like blazing topaz, electric, stared out at the world.
      Last night the thing had cleared the path up the hill of debris and foliage (however sparse the latter). Shouldered aside some larger rocks to create a prestigious way befitting of the wolf intended to walk it. Then, just before the dawn, in the still darkness, the thing had let loose a cry for this wolf. Summoned it from the very top of the world, above the clouds. And now, it waited.
      It's time to get down, dirty up our knees in the battle.

      "Words here."

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notes. private for theodosia.
words. 344
tags. @[Theodosia]