The saddle narrows into a secluded hollow roofed by leaning stone slabs and thorn-heavy roots. Wind fades to a muted whisper beneath the natural shelter.
Kekona enters the hollow and tests its floor with her steady feet. Dry needles and flattened moss cover a broad recess deep enough to conceal her from the open wilderness.
Kekona
The stone roof is sound, and the hollow has only one easy entrance.
Old claw marks score the rear wall, some high above her head and others worn nearly smooth. The place has sheltered predators before, though none recently.
Beside the marks, a faint human-made scent lingers among the roots. Kekona finds a concealed stone door, its narrow seam hidden beneath thorn and gray lichen.
The scent carries cold iron, lamp oil, and old fear. Somewhere beyond the sealed stone, the wilderness keeps what a survivor carried from Hollowbell, while the hollow waits quietly for Kekona’s choice.
Leave the compromised hollow