Day 2 – Mountain Cliffs
“Keep up!” Came the brisk voice of the silvery runner as he flitted on ahead through the blizzard, there was something ghostly about the tall and very lean vayron and he made it look easy as he moved with confident strides and broad paws through the snow. Spill was having a lot less success than he was, struggling through with no grace at all, stumbling into snow drifts and generally finding it all exceedingly tough going. The pure of blood trials were something Spill had been dreading for years, feeling the whole ordeal looming on the horizon as a chunk of effort. He wasn’t very good at effort. He’d been expecting to be assigned Merc as his partner for the trip but despite the brisk barked orders, he’d been placed under the charge of a stranger. Meow was the one ultimately assigned to the elder vayron. He’d been pleased to be able to lead Meow across the mountain paths but he’d seemed furious when he saw the name of the other companion who would be accompanying them for the trip as Spill’s mentor and guide. He’d been snippy and angry ever since. Spill didn’t have time to think too much about why he’d dislike the guy so much or where he might have known him from, he was too busy trying not to fall off the side of a mountain. After all, from what Spill could tell he seemed nice enough. It was the mountain that was the problem, it had a bad attitude. Snow was fine, he was used to snow, but the snow up here was more ferocious, the wind more biting and the drifts more dangerous, it was unfriendly snow and it was exhausting him very quickly. The first day had been deceptively easy, the pace slow and easy, with plenty of supplies to tide them all over, but the second day on the mountain was where they’d come to this point, where it was difficult even to continue on their way.
The only thing that was keeping Merc from attacking their new companion wasn’t the difficult weather but the fact that without him Spill would potentially fail his pure of blood trial. Any other place, any other time, the so called “Count” would find a set of teeth firmly placed in his cowardly muzzle and would be quickly sent packing. He was a reminder of a life Merc had left behind, and since they had set off he had not exchanged a single word with the interloper, treating him with nothing but complete indifference and deaf ears, anything which needed to be said was relayed via the medium of Spill and Meow. The anger and irritation which riddled him kept him walking, ignoring the aches in his muscles with a delighted sort of malice. They’d get through this mess and then he’d part ways with him hopefully for ever this time. Glancing back, he sought out Meow, slowing in his pace to ask her.
“Are you doing all right? We’ll stop for the night soon, it’s just a short way till this path levels out a little, there is a cave used by travellers up that way.”