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“Rock badgers.” The name worried her, in no way inspiring confidence. Just a guess, but an animal withrockin the title was no doubt accomplished at — oh, say —climbing rocks.

Cresting the top, she crawled to the middle of the pillar. “Terrific. Super, uber fantastic.”

Huffing, puffing, feeling as though she might die, Truly shifted into a crouch. She planted her forearms on her bent knees and looked at her hands. Caked with red dust. Cuts and scrapes underneath the layer of dirt. Shaking a little, she flexed her fingers, trying to stop them from trembling. She drew a calming breath and scanned the terrain. More brutal cliffs ahead of her, although…

Truly looked over the rock field again. Even with late day folding into dusk, she made out the edge. The shelf and drop-off. The place where the huge stones fell away.

The gloom deepened.

She squinted, forcing her eyes into focus.

Tall treetops swayed in the distance. Some coniferous with dense pine needles. Some leafy and full, the foliage so thick, the green so deep, the sight gave her hope. Good news. A forest meant shelter, relative safety and… water. Cool depths instead of the hot, dusty expanse of the rock field and more climbing.

She glanced at Montrose. “Is that where we’re headed?”

“Not if we want to live.”

“What do you mean?”

“Weeping Hollow is not a friendly place,” Montrose said, unease and reverence an odd mix in his tone. She threw him a questioning look. He shook his head. “The woodland is full of magic, Triple. Strange creatures and malevolent spirits. Those who enter don’t come back out.”

“Sounds like an old wives’ tale.”

“Might be.” Westvane landed with cat-like grace beside her. Quick, sure and… soundless.

A black blur, Eastbrook descended and, talons outstretched, landed on his shoulder. The raven cocked his head. The feathers at his throat rippled as he greeted her with a cooing call.

Truly huffed. “Well, I’m glad someone’s enjoying themselves.”

Eastbrook replied, the bird-sound more chuckle than chuff.

With a sigh, she pushed away from her knees and stood. As she brushed off her hands, her gaze bounced from Westvane to the direction he’d come, realizing he’d leapt the crevasse between two standing stones. The gap at least twenty feet across.

She scowled at him. “If you can jump like that, why the hell are we climbing?”

His dark eyes lit with humor. “I’m scouting.”

“And I’m tired of climbing.”

He smiled. “You really want to me carry you?”

Maybe.The thought pricked her pride. “No, but you could throw me. You know, like a human caber. Just chuck me from one boulder top to the next.”

Montrose snorted.

“While tossing you sounds like fun,” Westvane said, pausing for effect. “You’d end up sliding off the other side.”

“Might be a good death,” she said, pursing her lips. “Maybe even an advisable one.”

His lips twitched. Westvane shook his head, then extended his hand. She did as bid and settled hers, palm up, in the cradle of his. He examined her scrapes along with the raw patches of skin on her fingertips. “You good to go on?”

“No choice. Gotta keep going.” Removing her hand from his, she flexed her fingers again. Pain bit, making her knuckles ache. She ignored the discomfort, her attention drifting to Weeping Hollow. Even from a distance, she sensed the magic. Could see the vivid tumble in the air. Drank in the cool forest breeze like a tonic as silent spells surfed over red rock, smoothing caustic currents into gentle breaths of air.

She exhaled in relief. The breeze felt good. The forest felt like a true friend. Just what she needed, and at the moment, everything she wanted.

“Can you feel it?” she asked, gaze locked on the woods.

“Don’t, Triple.”