Mount Apikuni ◊◊◊;

the morning came gray and thick with fog, clinging to the trees like breath held too long. geirmundr walked in silence, carving a path through the dew-damp undergrowth. beside him—or a little behind, as she preferred—the girl (@Elk Charm) moved with quieter steps. she had not bathed. he had heard her rise briefly in the night, but no splash, no scent of river. it didn’t matter. the berries and root she'd gathered clung sweet to her coat now, softening the trail-dust, and he found it pleasant in a way he didn’t try to name.
they reached the base of the mountain by midday.
it rose before them like a god’s ribcage—steep, jagged, veiled in mist. geirmundr halted there, paws planted firm in the loam. his breath left him slow, steady, and he turned just enough to glance back at her, face unreadable but eyes catching hers.
a question lingered there. not spoken. not pressed.
only: do you climb?
or do we rest?