Tripsibet sat for a minute in the pool, eyes closed, taking in to the stink of sulfur and the heat of the water. Water lapped against rock. A curious jay scolded from the branches of a struggling pine nearby.

She leaned back against the rock and opened her eyes. Clouds slid across the sky, shapeshifting from cat to micrometer to a diagram of a vaguely familiar hyperbolic function.

Even at the height of summer, the snows of the Dun Morogh peaks never fully melted. She stretched her arms, chilling in the crisp mountain air, and rested them on the rock. Were the jay inclined to the same fanciful pattern-finding, it could have found seeds, berries and hawks in the multicolored bruises that decorated her skin.


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