Sawtooth Spire radiowaves

she begins to think that the river's start isn't as concrete as she'd imagined. she thinks that it will only continue to grow smaller, to split off, and perhaps soon it'll grow even smaller than the tiny dripping tributary from the rock face.  one glance up the mountain tells her that that question will remain unanswered, at least for today. still, she's overjoyed with how far up they've come already - she can see that dark canopy of blackfeather in the distance. 

she begins picking her way back down, asking, "can you tell me about winter, again?" the inevitable change of seasons fascinates her, she can not imagine anything but summer.