The grey river roared through the narrow limestone gorge below, throwing up cold spray that dampened the wool of Rumi's tracking trousers.
She crouched on a flat river boulder twenty paces from the ferry slip, her tail twitching in rhythmic annoyance as she watched the muddy trail.
She had walked the approach before climbing this boulder, marking her routes while the ferry workers were still busy pulling their morning lines across the water.
Her first route linked this stone to a cedar stump, her second joined the stump to a low boulder beside the mooring post, and the third returned here from the goat path's shale slab.
She pressed her palm against the mark beneath her boots, checking each connection back to the other places she had touched before looking toward the relay building.
The three prepared routes held under her four Wings, though she kept only the path toward the cedar ready to take her weight, leaving the other two waiting.
