Sawtooth Spire a silver whisper, take flight and steal into my mouth

No trebuchet sat in wait for Esme's arrival, but Riley did.

Sat in wait infers that Riley had arrived some time before Esme. That was empirically incorrect: he had staggered after her, having finally caught her scent just as he was about to abandon all hope -- and the going uphill was so rough and sloppy that he often had to stop and rest his sore haunches before continuing.

Truly, Riley's crucible was that insufferable mountain -- but he climbed it anyway, determined.

When he came across Esme she was playing a hair-raising game, balancing drunkenly along the lip of the cliff's outer edge. Any joy Riley might have felt to see the woman (who felled his scabbard) was stolen by the realization she was either playing Cliff Roulette, or considering it.

His fur stood on end as he limped forward, breath held. Stupidly, Riley couldn't think of anything to say at all -- so he just stared in equal parts shock, equal parts efferent longing -- towards the woman who may have dodged his quivering arrows but very much enamored his soul.