Nocturne Summit should they catch us and dispatch us.

She sat there and stared for who knows how long, drawing in exhilarated breaths of the thinner, cooler mountain air. When she finally dragged her eyes away from the view, she looked up at Finley just in time to see the tear track slowly down her godmother's face. Wildfire blinked, lips parting and brow furrowing. At six months old, she didn't associate tears with just any high emotion. Tears meant sadness and/or pain, pure and simple.

"Aunt Flea!" she half-shouted. "What's wrong?" She gently moved to bump her head against Finley's shoulder, plopping down next to her so that their flanks were flush and she could lean gently and companionably into the silver adult.