She scaled, higher and higher, and the wind whipped around her with ferocity. A frightening howl sounded in her ears and she couldn't tell if it was the hilltop itself crying out to her; the burning lands to the south couldn't be seen, but smelled, even over the freshwater of the loch.

Higher, higher, higher she climbed, and the bear-who-was-a-man trudged up diligently behind her. Always one step behind — or, under, in this case — in case she were to tumble down, and then she'd be sure to kill the both of them rather than die on her own.

The peak was still far from them, but Lildrieth seemed to have spotted her all-intended target. She shimmied over to a flat spot, just barely large enough for Klaus to grip his own claws into. He, too, scoured the horizon, landing on the little lodge below them and it's just when he's about to huff (asking, of course, if that's the next spot) that he realizes she's already leapt from the edge.

If he could scream, he would, but just a roar leaves him and he scurries behind.

Wind — that's all she can feel — wind, and little drops of water — so cold that the air turned into mist up here and baptized her — it combs through her hair and caresses every inch of her body — and the air is so fine and thin that she thinks her spirit could detach from her body and fly away —

but it doesn't, it never does. She keeps just enough of her wits about her to hook her bow into the side of the mountain, slowing her slowly until she can latch onto another little ledge and come to a pause (never a stop). It amazes her every time, what it feels like to be alive.

"Sorry, Klaus," she calls out behind her; she can hear his panting as he tries to maneuver his way over. With four legs and twenty claws, it's in some ways easier for him to manage. But, of course, too much regard for one's life can make adventuring difficult.

They're not but one hundred paces from the lodge, just a few more rolling hills in the way, so she slides the rest of the way down and decides to generously go around the long way, on safe and solid ground. A hand reaches out to pet the top of Klaus's head but he pulls away. Unusual.

But it must be shrugged off for the moment in favor of understanding the people of Quel'danil Lodge and their bounties of leather and arrow-works and pride. When night falls, it peels away the distractions, and under the carved boughs of a small-lodging room is there finally a moment for him to scream.

It's a shame the transformations back have become so painful, only made worse by their randomness; though Klaus did think this timing was awfully convenient. Lildrieth sat their with an expectant smile — it's like she takes notes on their conversations, now that she knows they're really not one-sided. The man-who-was-a-bear allows it for a moment before dropping his head back on a pillow and claiming exaustion.

"I tired you going through the mountains," Lildrieth says with a sad sigh, as if her own body was not aching from exhaustion. Still, the strength of the kal'dorei compares favorably with humans.

"You tire me all of the time," was the tired response.