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

Damn, was her gaze hard. Riley felt it slice through him, remorseless -- a chill raked past his heart.

She continued her nerve-chilling walk. Riley nearly called out to her, but something about the flatness of her gaze suggested any breath he wasted would be better served yelling at the sun or the clouds -- she was unnmovable.

No trace of resentment in her voice, unlike the icy clout of her gaze. As with all things Esme, Riley was woefully confused.

The call of the void, what..? What did that have to do with what she was doing? He looked nervously at the precipice. The drop was unfavorable. Unfavorable. He kept getting hung up over that word, his thoughts cyclical and confusing as Esme continued her deadly pirouette just out of reach.

He fretted like a cat standing on ice. There was some dissonance to this meeting that eluded him, but he could feel it mounting. "No." The boy murmured at last, tearing his gaze away. If she jumped, he did not want to see it -- he did not want to think of Esme some hundred feet below, turning dry stone a brilliant pastel pink and somber red with her explodent remains. "I left the Saints." He blurted suddenly -- inappropriately, maybe -- his mismatched gaze coming to rest apprehensively on the cliff-walker.