A setting sun sat heavily on the horizon as he hesitated at the edge of the mountains. Would she have left the mountain range, he wondered? Should he venture down into this land and continue his search for her here, or should he turn around and trek back the way he had come? He was exhausted. His body slumped into the descent down the rest of the way, skidding toward the wetland’s dead grasses until he made solid contact, but any more effort to push forward today was not on his agenda.
His body was slouched in a half-sitting position near the northern side of the wetland, just below the mountains, where he would have to call it a night. Green eyes searched the hilly landscape absently in distant thought—could she be here, in this land? Or had he chosen wrong from the start and gone the opposite direction of her from the beginning?
Lárus was hungry, but too tired to hunt. It would have to wait until morning. Instead, he remained where he was in distant thought, staring strangely off into the colors of the overcast evening. There were more smells here than anywhere he had encountered yet. Maybe some of the inhabitants might have seen her? Of the few scents he could smell here, he recognized none of them. None of them were Siberian. There was a tightness in his chest, but he did not know anxiety. Was it simply exhaustion?
Lárus exhaled unevenly, loudly; he was defeated and tired, and slid down onto his belly to curl up with the mountain range at his back. His eyes, heavy with sleep, continued to search through the grass in case she may appear. He refused to sleep yet.
Jan 05, 2018 11:21 PM
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