Eagle's High. Just above the timberline, The Balds and bare branches beg a steel grey sky for solace - some relief. There’s a palpable desperation here, spread out along the ridgelines, and down into the recesses and dark crevices that cut like daggers into the granite outcroppings! And have no doubt - The Stones feel it, rough-edged and cold, though they be. Their Granite existence may have been exposed to weather, and worn down by the glaciers of an Ice Age long forgotten, but their feeling is still acute. Raw. Ragged. Scrubby bushes feel it too - the few that manage to grow, with a mindless green determination that defies any shred of common sense. Even the air feels the pressure; its meager moisture condensing into Ice so it can remain, at least on the North Face, where it hides from the sun, and rimes itself with Hoary Frost. Few animals travel this far up the Mountain, except when lower climes force their hands. They bring desperation with them - skinny squirrels and underweight mice looking for Bittersweet berries or some forgotten Pine Nut that never got itself free of its cone-y home. This High Anxiety high land is Eagle Country too. Unlike everybody else, though, they come for the adventure, and the view. Sharp eyes can track a mouse for miles at this altitude, and the winds cast about in a never-ending dance that seems custom made for Winged creatures. Can’t blame the Eagles, really. Predators don’t get a good meal too often, so desperation feels like home.
