Blacktail Deer Plateau reporting the patterns row by line

Her question hung in the air for a moment and if not for the fact that he picked up on it being rhetorical, Mordecai would have faltered for a response. In the past, perhaps it may have been if only for a moment but now, yes, it was quite impossible. For as much as he had liked the vistas and niches tucked away within the Spine, he knew he would more than likely never visit it again. Barring a massive tragedy, he felt that it would always remained claimed. If not by Cara, then someone by her choosing. In a way, it's crown-like indention to the ground suited her far more than it had ever him. And what became of it now, or what it had been, he thought modestly of.

And perhaps luckily for them both, he had no pause for introspection beyond his momentary thought, as they had arrived at their destination. His steps slowed in time with hers, bringing him to stand beside her pale frame as they surveyed the tangle of scenery before them. If not for the storytelling illusions cast, Mordecai would have thought the area rendered inhospitable by a storm. Perhaps a landslide, noting the looming wall of the mountainside beyond the Plateau's claim. But instead he saw it for what they had spoke of — a troll's nest. The putrid remainder of snowmelt and wood lingered well around them.

"It stinks," he commented. Even with the loam beneath their feet, he could not pick up on the grit that he expect sand to have. "I can see why no one ever sees them, I don't imagine anyone would want to hang around here too long. Reminds me of swampland on smell alone." Though admittedly, unspoken, he knew that not all swampland reeked as foul as the patch of earth they had come to. But unknowingly, he didn't realize that this particular smelly patch was only limited to the spot she had brought them to.