The wind howled down the rugged slopes of the towering, knife-edged mountains, driving before it a flurry of snow and a chill that cut right through to the bone. A tall man stood on a narrow path that went its way up the mountain side, between teetering boulders that perched precariously and gnarled, tattered rags of trees that had been scoured flat by the elements, a trail that was barely worth the name, for more for sure footed mountain goats than for the likes of men.

A voluminous fur lined cloak of rich crimson rested upon the man’s shoulders, caught and tugged by the winds, first the one way and then the other. A gloved hand rested lightly upon the gilded hilt of a rapier that hung a his side, whilst his other hand was raised towards the winds, as if to ward them off. Indeed, it seems almost to be working, for the snows bent around him as they scurried past, rather than coming to rest upon him, and the wind tousling dark hair and crimson cloak seemed lesser than the one that tugged at the flattened trees.

Long of face, his pale somnolent eyes peered languidly down a sheer cliff that the path ran along the top of, falling away, far away to the lands below.

“This endeavour is crazy, Peregrine,” spoke he, loud so that he might be heard above the moans and echoes of the wind as they swept across the mountain slope.

Halfway down the cliff face, a woman perched, her auburn hair streaming out around her. She looked upwards towards the man perched above, and in her amber eyes shone a light of some inner fey. Her cloak had been rolled up and stored with her pack, where she had left it, atop the cliff, along with her boots, a jacket of leather and mail and her heavy bladed broadsword. She retained a dagger, thrust through the belt that was tied around a simple shirt of linen. Bare feet sought out purchase upon narrow ledges on the cliff face, while fingertips clung onto slender protrusions.

“I was born in country like this, Blade,” she called out back up to the watching man. “I’ve made more difficult climbs as a child, aye, even in my sleep. Besides, I saw something down here.”

“Yes, death,” Blade answered morosely. Staring down beyond her, there was something to be seen. Below, much further below, a ledge jutted out from the side of the mountain, before the view once more plunged away into the depths of the valley beneath, where a swift flowing river churned white as it surged and raged, to crash its way towards distant plains. Two bodies lay on the ledge, frozen from their exposure to the wild elements. One of them lay with his arm outstretched towards what appeared to be a coin purse that rested on the rim of the ledge, all but ready to fall. It was impossible to say whether the purse had been what had lured the two down to their deaths, or if one had dropped it in a fall.

Peregrine turned her attention back to her descent. Bare feet found purchase in narrow cracks on the stone. She moved with all the grace and surety of a mountain goat, flowing down the face of the cliff. Blade stood amazed at her progress, watching as she went, swinging from one protrusion to the next. He could climb, and climb well, but she had been born to it, as she had said, and was attempting a climb that would have made even him think twice about trying. A single slip would send her plunging to her death, much as it had for the two who had preceded her.

The wait was interminable before she at last set food on the ledge, shaking out the fatigue of the climb from her arms and shoulders. Blade watched as she knelt beside the two bodies in turn, inspecting each. Only once she had done so did she reach for the purse. She bounced in on her hand before tucking it into her belt.

Returning to the cliff face, Peregrine began her ascent, picking her way back up along the precarious route that she had discovered on the way down. When at last she had reached the top once more, she hauled herself back up and rejoined Blade upon the ephemeral path. A broad grin split her face.

“Satisfied?” Blade inquired of her as she began to collect her gear, to once more done boots and jacket and cloak.

“I got what I went for.”

“And what, prey tell, was that exactly?”

Peregrine took the pouch out of her belt, emptying the contents of it onto the palm of her hand. A single copper coin spilt forth, one of unknown origin and much corroded by age and wear.

“You went all that way for but a single coin?”

Peregrine shrugged her shoulders. “We are not alone in risking much for the chance of a coin,” she told her tall companion, “Much as those two fellows down below did. They were not locals, that much is for sure.” She bounced the coin on the palm of her hand before turning to look out over the valley.

Then, with a flick of her fingers, she sent it sailing out over the depths to begin its plunge downwards. For a moment it caught the sunlight and glinted in the air and then it was gone.

Picking her sword and pack up, she laughed as she caught sight of Blade’s bemused expression. “Come, let us be on our way. Here is much more coin to be made where we are going, and, besides, that one was bad luck. It had lured two men to their deaths already, and I would not leave it behind to lure yet more so as well.”

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