Osha went first, gripping the taut hemp line with both hands while her satchel bumped lightly against her hip. Five paces behind her walked Ashaun, keeping her right hand sliding along the rope and her stone left forearm angled inward for balance.
Beneath their boots, the white antler beetles clicked and tightened in long, patient waves. When Osha’s heel slipped once on a damp horn-ridge near the center, Ashaun did not shout; she simply braced her boots wide until the sway passed down the arch and Osha found her stride again. Within two minutes both women climbed onto the northern shelf beside Chaska.
Chaska blew a second short whistle. On the southern ledge, Lilt spread her broad grey fins, took three bounding hops to the rim, and launched out into the mist. She did not try to climb the cold night air with the folded cargo frame on her back; she simply planed six feet above the pale arch in a long, quiet glide and settled onto the northern gravel with a soft rustle of leather.
“Come on!” Chaska called back across the gorge. “The mist is thickening!”
Ysabet checked the top flap of her pack to be certain the mouse’s box had not shifted, then took the guide rope in her left hand. “Come, Pip. Kiv—ten paces behind us.”
