The climb up was steep, and she lost her grip several times. Thankfully, she didn't fall, or else she could have ended up seriously injured. Once she reached the ledge, she paused to catch her breath. The trail was there, visible albeit narrow. With renewed purpose, she hurried up the twisting path, remembering every berry bush, split stone, and totem she'd scraped onto the rock wall as she got nearer and nearer to the cave. With each step, the tension dripped out of her. But she was also aware of the sadness that gradually crept back into her soul. Zonaton would not be there, waiting for her when she returned. He would not swoop down with a fresh morsel of meat he wanted to share with her. Or surprise her with a new change of clothes. Or urge her to hurry and climb onto his back because there was something he wanted to show her. Overwhelming sorrow suddenly stole her breath and burned her eyes with tears. Her legs gave way, and Emmala slumped to the ground.
