He couldn't recall anymore when or where exactly he'd heard of the location, or of the beings who presumably resided up there in the skies over the locale, but the tale persisted. Gods, he'd been told, a number of them that created this world in their image and watched over the various life forms who embodied their doctrines. The concept was wholly new to him, and one that he still wasn't sure he could subscribe to. If there were deities watching over him, how was it things had been so rough growing up? Why hadn't they interfered? Why hadn't they said or done anything to promise the challenges he endured would be rewarded later?
The burly stallion gave a violent snort and shook his great antlered head, sending his thick mane flailing around him as the restful posture was broken by a steadying step to the side. What did it matter if there were actually gods up there? Whatever reach they hadn't certainly didn't extend toward him--which meant he could only rely on himself, a truth he had long ago realized and accepted. "They can't fix everything." The gruff grumble rolled out of him under his breath, a quiet blasphemy for the wholly devout but one Ogden believed firmly in. He wouldn't fall victim to the thought his life was dictated by another. He wouldn't lay at the hooves of some unseen force begging for intercession. He would do, whatever it was that he could, to make things happen on his own.
It was why, as he turned away from the mountain, putting its looming presence behind him, he set his eyes downward, toward the grasses and what grew among them. Winter would be fast approaching, and with it many plants would die and fall dormant--including those he often found medicinal uses for. Healing was his own brand of magic, of changing fates and making his own story, and it gave him a certain sense of power that grounded him and gave him purpose. With heavy, lumbering strides, Ogden began a slow, methodical search of the area immediately around him, little bits of endless dirt raining down from the earth piled upon his rump with each step. If he found anything, great; if he didn't, maybe he could slip away before the quiet was disturbed by unwanted company.
