Dawn cuts pale across the Pit, and the world drops away in a long black sweep of pebble-stone and green ruin. Hhannvis stands at the rough rim with a small knot of travelers, all of them staring down the sheer rise as if it might bite.
The Guide
There, see it. Safe enough if you keep your feet and do not look straight over the lip.
The Guide, a clean-cloaked halfelf with a steady mouth and weathered hands, points down the slope. Behind him, two rough-clad companions whisper about the new arrival and the bad luck of the path they lost when the little green hunters scattered them.
The Guide
We were driven off the true track by compys. Nasty little devils. Now we take the hard edge, and we take it careful.
Hhannvis
The drop is steep, and the stone is slick with morning mist.
Below, the basin opens wide, miles of black pebbles and broken ledges, with smoke from distant camps threading up through the trees. Something small and fast darts between the rocks far off, then vanishes.
The Guide
You are the one they call Hhannvis, yes? If you mean to come with us, now is the time to choose your footing.
A sharp hiss comes from the scrub to the left. The companions freeze, and the Guide half-turns, hand going to his spear as the unseen threat closes in somewhere just beyond the ledge.