Sawtooth Spire for the debt i owe, gotta sell my soul

thorn was not here by happenstance.

at first the scent of mountain cat had been but a whisper on the breeze: as it grew more insistent, the wolf had followed after it. it was folly to take a hellcat headon, but thorn hadn't plans to assault the cat (not yet, anyways). he had plans to scare it off. he knew them to be irascible, but clever predators -- they did not risk limb if they believed themselves to be outnumbered.

he knew the crook in the sawtooth's mountains would lend to his plan: he threw back his head in song where the scent was thickest -- his voice bounced from stone to rock to quarry, the single voice becoming thousands as it rushed down the mountain's summit. perhaps this would scare the cat away, and thorn could return to his duties back home.

as it was, he was entirely unaware that somewhere here ketzia lingered, fighting for her very life and attempting to escape the pit she had fallen in.