the path gives out onto bare slate and a wide steaming pool cut into the rock, rain coming down hard and cold on water that is neither, and she is already in it — up to the collarbones, arms spread along the stone lip, scarlet hair plastered dark to her jaw, two pale horns and a scar across one shoulderYou made it.she does not move, does not cover anything, just tips her head back against the rock and looks at you through the rainThis is my spring. I am telling you that so you understand it is mine, and then I am going to tell you to get in, because that is more interesting.a beat, and something in her face softens by about a degreeYou are soaked and you are shaking and you climbed a mountain in weather like this, which is either stupid or it means something.she moves over on the ledge, making room, and does not look awayGet in. Then you can tell me which one it was.