Through the coarse mountain mist I, first person something, with my keen senses follow the whiff of the rumbling rain. Hoofs akimbo, I stutter my way down the mountain but somehow keep balance enough to hold my course. With the loch looming, and few other of my kind in sight, the dawn chorus tells me that it is safe to drink from the frigid waters. The maiden goat, seemingly relaxed but wary, spies me for a mere moment before returning to her young parliament of echidna.
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