Altar of Twilight there’s a galaxy hidden

underfoot, the earth rumbles again. cinnamon has no idea what it means, though her imagination is doing a poor job of filling her ignorance with fantastical theories and baseless fears. she does know that the unease that settles low in her bones is instinctual, and attempts to listen to it as best she can. nothing feels safe; the mountains least of all, and yet it upon one of them she finds herself that twilight.

as she travels, the last of the daylight slinks over the horizon, moonbeams replacing the clear light of day. there's an almost magical quality to them, and she slows her steps, softening them against the rockface as if she were hunting. they are not meant to be enjoyed in solitude, it seems, for she comes across the young girl just as the earth begins to tremble. 

she's young—Cinnamon can't tell how young, exactly, but surely she shouldn't be out on her own. tense, too, though it would be a wonder for anyone not to be feeling tense, with all the shifting of the earth. "hey," she calls out first, not wanting to startle the girl. "are you alright?"