Silvertip Mountain peaceable

While the woman gazed upon the mountain looming above, Aesop picked his way over the rubble and earth to come up beside her. His approach was far from graceful, so he was glad that her attention was divided, her thoughts clearly elsewhere on the mountain. At last he drew nearer. From a few feet away, he could see that her eyes were piercing, an icy blue, clear and cold.

For a few moments, they glanced about in silence. The valley was cast in shadow, cool and dark and deep. He imagined forests set in darkness, the unknown comfortable. The white-tipped mountain seemed to clean, raw yet unnatural in the sharpness of its edges. The pureness of the white, light glancing off of it, was artificial and violent. The darkness below was soft and safe.

The stranger broke their shared silence with a question. He glanced at her, clearly unsure if she was being serious about her question. Well, he supposed that there was beauty and there was intelligence, and they didn't always go hand in hand. "Shit blocks out light," he explained, deadpan. Was he missing something? He tried to convince himself that he had missed some cue.