Spotted Eagle Mountain that's why i'm calling you back, cause i gotta run soon

the cold made concentration hard; qiao's lips pursed as a string of words transferred from her tongue into the air in wintry steam.

somewhere nearby footsteps sounded. qiao's eyes opened only when the author of those footsteps spoke: a man of drab greys, beset by a pair of smoldering orange eyes. around him clung the peppery saltness of the sea.

she straightened her posture, fixing the stranger with a flat olive gaze. the herbs remained underfoot while her concentration withered away. how, what?