shadows of you, won't let me go }} OPEN

High midnight. A full moon, not that it could be seen for the thick clouds that hung, heavy and purple-gray, over the world. The sky threatened another dreadful blizzard, the likes of which would send even the residents of Arctic Ravine dashing for their dens.

That is, all but one. White fur was a stark contrast against the black glass of Obsidian Valley. Snowfire was large, as young males went - his size well befitting of a wolf of Alpha blood. Eyes closed, he trotted boldly across the slippery glass, somehow never losing his stride, not a slip, not a yelp. It was as if he had some kind of psychic ability to make sure he never stood on a sharp edge, or a slippery patch.

Despite the inherent danger of the place, despite the fearful storm brewing, Snow let his senses of smell and hearing guide his path. Sight was such a fallible sense, particularly here, in this valley of mirror-glass. His hearing detected a subtle change in the way his pawfalls echoed against the walls of the valley, and a faint scent of blood met his nostrils. Ah - the sharpest, most dangerous part of the entire valley. Snow slowed, walking now, moving with more caution. He tested each step before he put his full weight onto each paw.

Eyes snapped open, revealing the reason for Snowfire's name. One was brightest blue, the other deep fiery amber. Head low, nose almost to the ground, he continued onward, searching, always searching. There was a reason for the Quake, there had to be. Snow had thought long and hard on the matter, and had decided that if it was in a wolf's power to know that reason, it would be found either here, or in the Circle where all fights were carried out. Both were completely new features of the landscape, created by the Great Quake itself. Logic followed that the answers, if they existed, would be found in one of those two places.

Logic - ah, but it was something that was sorely lacking in Snow's life. No logic could explain why the Quake had happened, why his family had been so cruelly ripped away. Why that particular mountain had to collapse in that particular direction.

Out the corner of his blue eye, Snow glimpsed a flash of white. It could have been his own reflection, off the glass. Somehow he doubted that. It was far too bright to be the reflection of his own gray-white pelt; it had to be her. His mother, come back to haunt him once more. The memory-ghost of Miria never left him alone for long. Snow had once thought it was company that drove her away. It felt like a long time since he had discovered that was not the case.

Long, slow, purposeful strides carried him a little faster over the glass. If he avoided the blood spots, he would avoid the sharp points and edges.

"Leave me alone, Mother," he growled at the white shape at the edge of his vision. He knew she wanted answers, would not rest until he gave them to her, but they were answers Snowfire did not have. Answers he sought as desperately as the memory-ghost did.

Suddenly, the fresh scent of another wolf met Snow's sensitive nose. He froze, one paw raised and extended in mid-stride. This was not a scent he knew. At that same moment he knew that, though the memory-ghost was Mother and was there, he was not alone with his mother that night.

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.snowfire. .one year, one season. .male. .white pelt. .one blue, one amber eye.
.alpha male of arctic ravine.