It is a cold and stormy night in the high passes of the Brillia mountains. The few trees here are weighted down heavily with snow from the past morn, and only the faintest gleam of moonlight peeks over the edge of the mountain. Only a few birds move on their branches, as an eagle swoops high above.

One of the highest points on the mountain, It never saw the sun until afternoon, when it was already becoming night again. It was a barren outcrop of life above the frigid mountain, where little could survive the harsh storms and subzero temperatures.

But there was one that endured.


Brought up here by death itself, for the purpose of dying, it lived. Alone. Lonely, but strong. It was younger than many would guess, but already it had a legend of its own. It was a tiger of the wind, A Ryulon out of place. two beautiful horns, glinting in the little light the moon provided. He learned everything from the wind, everything he knew.

Gray eyes, his eyes, deep inside them a searing pain, golden like fire. Searching, anywhere on the mountains cruel surface for life. Any life.

There.

A young deer bounded tens of thousands of feet below, on a grassy knoll near the mountains base.

Eyes closed, ears back, tail in, it jumped, from the highest peak of the mountain, the sun glistening on its icy-white fur. Body bound tightly by muscle, it dived, paws together, for minutes. Finally opening its eyes, its mouth opened into a snarl, its legs bracing for impact.
The ground rushing towards it, a great rush of the kill ran through its veins and it landed, snarling, on top of the deer. Its jaws clamping around the deer's neck and claws gouging deeply into its back, it thrashed and bit, but the deer had died on impact. Jumping off the deer's maimed body, it threw back its head in a howl.

A high pitched, piercing echo rushed through the valley surrounding the mountian. Fangs flashing, elation spread through it and a great hunger renewed itself. Turning back to the carcass, it feasted for some time, until the sun had come and gone on this side of the mountain. It scraped the bones of every last bit of flesh and muscle, until only a pile of bones and blood stained snow remained.

Smiling through blood- stained fangs and starting to throw back its head to howl again, it stopped abruptly.

He had killed that deer. Eaten its flesh, snapped its neck. Maimed its body beyond recognition before then stripping its bones of all muscle. He was a killer, he always had been.
A horrible distress overtook his elation and he felt his face drain of all blood. Guilt. Death. Turning toward the pile of bloody bones, he crouched, staring.
He wanted to apologize, to undo his actions, to be hungry again.
But the deed was done, the life had been snuffed out, as his had come so close to being, long before.

And so he sat there, Alone. Lonely, With a horrible sadness in his heart. But the wind doesn't cry.


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So watcha think? I'll continue this if I can, and if you guys want me to. Please, some criticism, anything! tell me how Im doing. This is my first attempt.

P.S.- Sorry its so gory.

I like the grammar and word usage. I like the array of adjectives. I like the scenery, and descriptions. I like the contrasts, and I like the emotions.

Overall, I'd say I like it. Keep up the good work.