Chapter 58: The Mountain

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Chapter 58: The Mountain

The part of the Middle that they decided to camp in was quiet. Mor hadn't let her guard down since they winnowed away from the Wendigo—far away enough that Galadriel couldn't see any sign of flame or smoke—but Cassian's defences had fallen so Galadriel allowed hers to follow suit.

Cassian winced as he bent down. Galadriel felt the guilt sit like lead in her stomach. Scratching her head, she glanced around the flat plain of earth and trees. "I'll... I'll go look for some decent firewood."

Mor didn't answer, unstacking the tin pots they'd heat over the fire once it started. Cassian said, "Don't wander far. This area is known to be peaceful, but the creatures that live here aren't fond of the notion of borders."

Indeed, peaceful seemed a near-fitting word. All she could hear, wandering away from the low hum of activity behind her, was the crunch of dry grass beneath her boots, the occasional hoot of an owl and the chittering of bugs crawling out from their little nooks. She wandered far enough that looking over her shoulder, she couldn't see them anymore. Each step felt too heavy and the friction of even the brittle wood against her arms beneath her leathers stung from the burns fading along her skin. She was healing faster, at least compared to last time. Like a disease the body grew to know how to fight.

The world became entirely shadowed, the sun disappearing like a hand covered it. Galadriel looked to the west, where the thickness of the shade came from. 

A great mountain loomed, the jagged point carving into the coral and cerulean sky. The mountain face was a landscape of dark rock, as if it had been pushed up from the dark pits of hell below them and the rolling hills of green like an ocean around it had recoiled.

Galadriel walked until her arms were beginning to shake. But each hunk of wood, stick and pinecone was an excuse. An excuse not to return and watch Mor tend to the deep cut on her shoulder. An excuse to not have to look at Cassian's wounded wing or his burnt hand. At least Azriel had refused to come. Even though it slashed something to her pride to hear his doubt, he hadn't been hurt or witnessed her dawdling. Galadriel had just stood there when the Wendigo attacked.

Galadriel had walked for so long, the sun well below the horizon, that she reached the root of one of the folds at the foot of the mountain. It didn't worry her venturing so far out. She could winnow back now, knowing where she'd come from.

The air around the mountain was thin, as if she needed to breathe more of it to satisfy the craving in her lungs. Frowning, she edged forward, dropping her large pile of wooden clutter by the base of one of the only trees that had grown so close. According to the history that she knew, the mountain in the Middle had always been empty. Nobody, not even Beron, liked whatever unseen presence lingered. Something not from this world.

Galadriel strode along the edge, inspecting the ridges and the folds in the stone, seeking some sign of whatever was making her feel unsettled.

Then, like an offering, she found the entrance to a thin cave. Leaning in, she peered down the long hallway of stone into darkness, lit by only the strength of moonlight. Though the walls were not smooth, the cave was round enough to suggest that it was carved out on purpose. Though by animal or fae, it was hard to tell. There were creatures that could do so. Middenguard worms were known to burrow into stone if it were brittle enough.

Against better judgement, Galadriel summoned one of the sticks she had picked up and set it alight, waving it through the cave's entrance. Nothing. But exploring it, even just to see where it led, gave her another excuse. So she went into the mouth of the mountain.

~

Her footsteps echoed, no matter how light she kept her footing. The occasional stray stone would skid across the path when her boot hit it. She'd cringe, stilling until the ringing flattened, waiting a little longer. But nothing ever came out of the shadows. It kept going, like it was growing right before her, expanding in equal length to every step she took.

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