Silvertip Mountain the towers of the mind

The conversation moved and flowed as easily as their pawsteps, and Muirrin soon forgot the ache of her muscles as she pushed them and stretched their capacity—for the climb of her own mountain, in the east, was far less demanding on the body. She thought the spirits here, of the wolves that had lived here long ago, were similarly stronger and hardier for it... perhaps that was why the lingered still. It was more difficult for the natural world to push them from the mortal plane; especially in a place that overlapped so closely with the otherworld.

For a moment, after Aguta's question, Muirrin was uncertain whether or not she wished to answer—or, rather, whether it was in her best interests to answer honestly. Though everything between them thus far had come easily, the Blackthorn had quickly learned from Scimitar that boldness was not always the favorable option. That she held an intensity that made others uncomfortable, and until she knew them well, it was best to present herself a great deal more guarded. She glanced at the dark woman, assessing her silently, and decided that she would trust. If Aguta believed in the spirits and could feel them, Muirrin wished to have her as an ally—even if the woman chose not to follow her.

"I have spent most of my life searching for a path," she explained quietly. "I think I have finally found it, but I wish to be sure. Our ancestors, whether of our own blood or further removed, have the wisdom I seek." There were darker, trickier spirits—this Muirrin knew—but while this mountain felt eerie, it certainly did not feel evil.