Silvertip Mountain the towers of the mind

"Would you believe me if I said it just... feels right?" she answered the dark woman's questions with one of her own. If they did not stand as equals for the moment, Muirrin might have shrank away for her insubordination—but she honestly didn't know how else to answer. She was sure that her mountain had ghosts and spirits of its own, but they seemed more reserved and more difficult to reach. It was as if the door to the Otherworld was open a bit wider here, or that there was a legion of spirits that existed here rather than a handful. Muirrin explained as much, no longer fearing that the woman might judge her.

Perhaps it was odd, then, that Muirrin wasn't looking to claim this mountain. If she sought answers from its spirits, if they were that powerful—why not? This might have been another question from the dark woman's lips, and if it were, Muirrin most likely answered honestly. It was almost too powerful here. It almost terrified her. It would be dangerous to show such fear, however; they would feed off of her, and lead her astray.

When they reached the highest point they could muster, Muirrin explained the ritual she was about to perform. A meditation that could not be disturbed. A meditation that could take weeks, or months, or year. Who knew? The agouti Blackthorn shrugged with a roll of her shoulders, and as night fell she settled into silence but for the wailing of the spirits.

It was dusk when she emerged, and the dark woman that had been her guide was nowhere to be found. Muirrin left the mountain whole and alone.