Silvertip Mountain Trespass

Goldry felt the weight of her words, for they were as heavy as the mountain and filled with consequence. Initiation; oath; family. One of these was not the same. The hairs at the nape of his neck bristled. A disagreeable feeling settled in his chest. Family or cult? He wondered if she knew the difference. But he reminded himself he had no home to go back to, and he was tired of being alone. He could carve out the life he craved here, and he would do it with such tenacity as to prove to her he was worthy of it.

He nodded solemnly. I understand.

But the devil was in the details, and secretly he wondered if he understood anything at all.

Skills he could bring in abundance, and immodest was he in saying so. “I've some skill in navigating mountains, and guarding them. I'm a good hunter, a competent fighter, a decent tracker.” He remembered following Aguta's trail, even at times when it seemed to have disappeared completely. There was something to be said for her own expertise at leaving little behind for him to follow—he had almost lost her track more than once—but his greatest strength was why he succeeded, in the end; “I'm a strategist. I figure out how to win.”

I can bring you victory.