The Sunspire Tried to do[m]esticate you

She hadn’t stopped. Brushed off metaphorical sleeves as though nothing had happened, and it was back to business, and now business meant traveling solo along the mountainside. Sleep felt dangerous. Rainfall from the previous night still clung to her coat; she hadn’t bothered shaking it off. Onward, only onward.

Exactly what possessed Finley to climb higher still up the Sunspire was, like many things of recent concern, far beyond her conscious awareness. The reasoning bobbed along downstream, bones in the water, bumping to and fro against the stones.

Fish bones, she noted. A light breeze downwind carried the faintest trace of blood. Recent. The predator was close.