Mount Everfall a single spark

The end of summer was nigh, but the heat persisted, as if it was alive and loathed the idea of being subdued by the coming of autumn; she liked it. She liked the fierce changes to the world in this strange southern place, although the heat was an uncomfortable phenomena that curled the whisp-ends of her fur and made travel so much harder. As the shadow slipped carefully across an abuttment of stone and then down, through a natural path towards a pit of strange looking pebbles and trinkets, she wondered of the winter. It would not likely be so difficult here; there were no ice flows upon which to dance, no endless sea, and — it pained her to think — the sky-lights were probably too far from her sight in this place.

As she picked her way through the rubble (idly kicking a mixed pile of shale and basalt, ignoring the gleaming jasper, the glorious and rare shards of sunstone) the girl was distracted, and thirsty, and homesick. But there were miles to go before her quest was complete. She had pledged to find the man with the golden eyes, and if Saga was anything, she was devoted. The elders would one day hear of her great journey and she would find her place among the legends of her people; but did it have to be such an uncomfortable experience? With a sigh slipping through her lips, and a brief moment of ugliness wherein her tongue fell from her mouth and she noisily panted, Saga collected herself and set off from the mountain slope at a brisk pace, eager to find her way down the mountain.