Whether it was the quake or something else that roused her, Windwalker
awoke, senses sharp and searching. From below, she heard the crashing
of brush and a voice muttering, then more crashing, the voice louder,
until finally, an angry shout: MERDE! One small hand with a silver
etched band on her right ring finger appeared on the ledge in front of
her, then another with a wrist bracelet also made of a forged silver,
followed by a familiar face, so mischievous that Windwalker might have
mistaken her for Trickster. Her gray-blue eyes, normally snapping with
humor, were strained as she rested one elbow on the ledge, grunted,
heaved the other arm up, and hung there, glaring.

 ”Pardon moi. Do you mind giving me a hand?” she growled, her French
accent making Windwalker take a second glance at the woman.

Windwalker gave her a quizzical look (modern slang was beyond her ken)
and asked, “Why?
You already have two.” Her dead pan delivery making her visitor
grimace.

Her visitor snarled and let loose a stream of undecipherable words
ending in “HADES!” Then yet another growl from deep within her throat;
a savage creature this one, Windwalker thought to herself.

“Oh,” Windwalker brightened, “you want help?”

“Mais oui, if it’s not too much trouble, if you could take my hand and
hoist my ***** up next to yours” she seethed and forced calm words
between gritted teeth.

Windwalker stood, leaned down and lifted her up by her arms and set her
on her feet. Then she looked over the ledge. “That’s a long climb for
such a tiny person,” she observed and received a growl in return.

“Oh!” her face lit up in recognition, “it’s you! I thought you had
retired,” she smiled a greeting. Recognizing her suddenly, whether it
was from the language, the accent or the characteristic growl, she
wasn’t sure.

“Oui, I did. I have. I am, dead to the world, at least that world.” the
Acadian smiled back, reaching into her back pocket and dusting off her
‘Disturbed’ hat and placing it on her mass of tangled windblown
blondish hair.

“Then what are you doing here?” Windwalker asked, and the JadedRogue
looked at her and shrugged her shoulders. The red and black flannel
shirt billowed around her as she stared out at the open range before
her, gray blue eyes taking it all in with hunger.

 ”The same as you, probably. Getting away from the crowd. Besides,” she
sighed, “retirement is utterly boring. I’m bored out of my ever loving
gourd. Forced into an early grave is very lackluster.” She proclaimed.