Set

Just a short thing.

The colors of the mountains danced together so beautifully, I mused from my perch on the rock. Its placement was precariously high, but it showed a wonderful view below me, so I was more than willing to take the risk of falling to the valley below. Besides, if I were to lose my footing, I trusted my wings to stop my plummet past the cliff side. Leaves were falling, this time of year, sending colors spiraling to the ground in a myriad of colors, adding to the already leaf-dusted pathway beneath my paws. Strange, I thought, that something dying could be so beautiful. My home in fall was a grand site to see indeed. Through the rest of the year one grew accustomed to gray, gray, and more gray, only broken by the occasional brown of dead grass or mud, or the crisp white of snow. Now, though, the highlights of leaves against the grays of the world were a welcome sight. They occasionally brushed with the lightest of touches against my fur and leathery wings, before falling to the ground. The sound of water was another ever-present thing, along with the gray stone. It always sounded in your ear, sometimes faintly, sometimes drowning out all other sounds. Today it was a dull roar in my ears, it's source the ribbon of river that cut through the stone out of my sight. I could see it down below me; a barely visible thread against the lush green of the land below. It looked so tantalizingly beautiful down there, yet somehow, I didn't feel I belonged there. I was meant to stay here, my heart told me, in the place where I was born. I was born here, in the mountains, though I separated from my mother as all of my kin did and foolishly ventured down to the valley. More than a moon passed, and I managed to find my way back into the mountains, nothing but scrapes, scars, and memories familiar to me in the area. Time passed, and I learned more of the humans that hunted me, and how to elude them. Months passed, and I became fully self-dependant. Three years in these mountains, and I knew them better than I knew myself. None bothered me in the haven, and I liked it that way. I struggled then and now, and survival was still the focus of my life. The struggle was a thrill for me, and I found contentment from the chase, no matter which end I was on. In those times when the humans retreated for the mountains for a season, not to hunt again 'till warmer weather, and the predators became lethargic and slow, I would journey down into the valley, stirring up trouble wherever I could find it, and usually biting off a lot more than I could chew. The scars hidden beneath my long fur were testimony to the punishments my folly brought me, but in my eyes, they were trophies. On rare occasions, I would see others of my kind, but none like me. I always felt mixed emotions in these times; both craving contact with others and withdrawing into the walls I had built around myself to survive. So I kept well enough away, getting more small fights than conversations, before the madness that the others' presence drove me back again. Soon, I knew, boredom would lead me from my home range and down into the valley again. I sighed, shifting my weight on the sun-warmed rock and adjusting my leathery wings' position. Laying there, a lone figure against the backdrop of sky, I watched the golden star fall beneath the horizon, and bade farewell to the day.

Author's Note

I love crits; rip it to shreds until it's nothing left, it'll be appreciated. As long as you're actually pointing out bad things and not "This sucks", because, frankly, the latter it not helpful.