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Ahead of them the wind whispered cold promises across the high cliffs of Arrowhead Mountain.
The sun had long since fallen, slipping behind the horizon like a wounded soldier retreating into sleep. The stars glittered above with unusual clarity. The moon shone brighter. No clouds veiled the moon, and the jagged tip of Arrowhead mountain jutted so high into the sky that it seemed to pierce the constellations themselves.
The terrain here was sharp, narrow, and shaped like a broken spear jammed into the planet. But Alka had found a natural flat ledge just beneath the main peak. It stretched wide enough to support them all, with a wall of rock shielding one side and a slope descending into pine forests on the other. Sparse tufts of moss and mountain grass swayed along the edges.
