So this is all leading up to Avoyel meeting the rest of the pack. Yay for anyone that reads through all of this. LOL. I was going to just write a story from the cougar attack to him meeting Elke, buuut after it got to 800 words I realized I should break it up. So now I started something I probably won't be able to quit. ;-; LOL. Stories and pictures!

I had to draw him being angry about the weather. He hates it. He's a prince! He needs temperature controlled environments! x)

The "story" this continues from can be found here.
http://www.furaffinity.net/view/14588174/

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It had been a final disgrace to the cougar that Avoyel left it to rot without so much as taking a single bite from it's still warm flesh to ease the hunger that gnawed at his belly. He had left it, steaming in the cold, feeling only partially satisfied. The anger he had felt before he had attacked it still burned under his skin, and boiled his blood. However, as the adrenaline eased from his veins he was also beginning to notice the stinging from his wounds.

His shoulders bled from where the cougar had held on, digging it's razor sharp claws into him. From his belly and up his flank deep scores also bled from the hind claws of the beast he had so ruthlessly attacked. The pain only grew more apparent as he walked, head and ears low, through the frigid and barren rock valley. The wind blew to his back, as biting as the white-hot pain that seared through his wounds. Even though he was wounded, he still did not feel regret for killing the cat, instead he let the pain fuel his anger, imagining that it made him stronger.

Snow swirled up into Avoyel's dark face causing him to squint his eyes shut, and pause in his tracks. Night was coming and this cold barren land did not appear friendly to strangers. What grass there was was sparse and brown between the gray rocks, and few stunted trees grew; their roots trying to find their way into what little dirt and nutrients could be found, which was obviously not much judging by their size. However, the gray landscape was quickly turning white. The grass was hidden, the little ugly stunted trees quivered and shook in the wind as they were layered with snow and ice. Everything was being covered in snow, including himself.

Avoyel snapped at the air suddenly, for no reason other than he wished this weather would end. He growled, pale yellow eyes narrowed against the wind and snow as he tried to see someplace that could provide shelter. He saw nothing but white blurred forms of rocks. He silently cursed the beast that took over his family's land. There he would know where to find shelter, but there the winters were also milder—though the occasional harsh winter and blizzards were not unknown. There were plenty stories of those, although now there would be no one to tell them but him, and who would he tell them to? A tree?

He shook his head, and began to move again, picking up his pace to a trot. The narrow valley would open up somewhere, he told himself. The extended movement, however, pulled at his wounds and made him grimace. That cougar would not rot in this weather, he reflected, it would be buried by snow and freeze. When the snow thawed, the buzzards and ravens could have at it's worthless carcass. For now, winter could have it, but winter would not have him.

He pushed past the pain, straining all of his senses as he looked for some place to rest. He feared that fate was against him, that as the world around him grew darker with the coming of night, he would have to press onward as temperatures continued to plummet. Fear began to torment his mind that he, the last survivor of his pack, would die here alone in this frigid wasteland. But as the thought began to poison his mind, a scent caught his attention. On the wind there was a scent that was not uniform with the scent of the barren, icy valley. The air smelled slightly warmer, musty, like some sort of cave. He could only hope.

Following his nose, Avoyel began to look in earnest for the cave he hoped was not a figment of his imagination, or worse, too small for him to get into. He moved himself closer to the rocky walls as he sniffed up and down for the opening to a cave he was sure was there somewhere. He had begun to fear the worst when he finally came upon it, it's entrance nearly hidden in the snow that was piling quickly on the rocks. The entrance was rather small, he observed. He didn't want to enter when he might get stuck and so he stuck his head inside the entrance first, peering into the gloom. He could not see well, but he felt that it was much wider inside by the way the air moved against his whiskers, as well as how it smelled and sounded as the wind howled through the narrow gap.

He squeezed himself inside, the rough edges of the rocks pulling across his wounds. He growled and bared his teeth, but that was his only complaint. He refused to take the blame for these wounds. It would have been too easy to leave the cougar alone, and he did not regret killing it, did not regret even the pain it had caused him. The air was cold and felt incredibly still after being buffeted by the wind as it rushed down the narrow valley. The still air alone made the cave feel warmer. It was not a large cave, but it was large enough for him to stand, to walk in a circle, and to lay down. He would not go so far as to say it was comfortable but it would do. It was far better than being outside.

As he lay with his head between his paws, chin resting on the cold earthen ground, his mind drifted to days past. He missed the mild winters of the south, and the soft lush grasses and sweet scents of flowers. Game was plentiful, his belly was never empty. The heat could be intolerable but one such as him could laze in the shade of a large tree and sleep until the evening. He did not think of negative memories of his home, for in his mind nothing was as miserable a place as this.

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