The Sunspire boy peeling a fruit

Diligence would win out - it always did. If it took him another day to reach the cliffside of this mountain, it would still be worth it. The work would bring him closer to that simple goal; but still, Caravaggio was frustrated. The initial spill down the incline was brief, causing more dust to rise and rocks to fall than anything else. He breathed through the murk as it settled around him, and when the cloud vanished, the wanderer's pale eyes observed a lingering silhouette. A dark-pelted creature of saturated umber stood before him, looking down upon his blunder with a pompous air; but this did not dissuade Caravaggio. This only emboldened him.

He picked his way across the stones once more, avoiding the shale, avoiding even the gneiss when it began to rock beneath the pressure of his step; and before long he was close, reaching with ease towards the stranger - a woman, this was a woman. He was close enough to discern that now, and what a woman; she appeared to have conquered the mountain.

Caravaggio chuffed and fanned his tail - careful to keep it lower than her own - showing his friendliness. He meant no ill-will to this native. Your mountain, it is beautiful. The most beautiful I have seen. He bowed his head lower, but kept his pale gaze trained upon her cheek, her jaw, and away from the eyes. Do you wish me to leave? The boy asked, quite suddenly, for he did not wish to overextend his welcome - even for the natural beauty surrounding the pair of them.