After catching a very long nap, Terry dragged his sorry ass out of the tent. He took a few minutes to eat some leftover murder-bird and splash some water on his face. Then, mostly because it was the path of least resistance, he took them onto the actual path up the mountain. It was wide enough that it actually functioned more like a road. That meant that it had probably been made for wagons. Given how rare storage items were, and how heavy a big load of rocks usually was, that made sense to him. Given that some dirt had accumulated on parts of it that was deep enough to support weeds, it also stood to reason that it had been several years since anyone or anything had made this trip. Most of the path was still just bare stone that had been cut or shaped in some fashion.

Probably magic, thought Terry.

No, they were definitely up here with water cutters and wire saws, opined other-Terry. You can see the cut marks in the stone.

Really? asked Terry, peering down at the path beneath his feet.

Of course, not really. They obviously used magic. How is it that you can be the king of paranoia sometimes and completely gullible about things like this? I can't figure it out.

I thought you were trying to be helpful, for once, thought Terry. My mistake.

Oh, answered other-Terry, who actually sounded a little guilty. Well, shit. Now I feel bad.

As you should.

Don't push it. You don't have much moral high ground here.

I hate it when you're right about things, complained Terry.

That explains why you're like that twenty-four-seven.

Yeah. Yeah. You're a real laugh-a-minute.

It's my curse, agreed other-Terry.

Terry dismissed the construct from his thoughts and mostly focused on watching his surroundings. If they were going to get attacked, he didn't want it to happen while he was distracted. The problem was that even he didn't think it would happen this soon. They just weren't far enough up the mountain yet. After all, if you're going to shove someone off the side of a mountain, and you know they're a superhuman, you don't do it at the bottom. You need to wait until they're way up that rocky bastard. High enough that that fall might actually kill them. Otherwise, all you get is a very angry superhuman looking for revenge. Granted, that kept things peaceful near the bottom, but it also made things boring. The boredom finally got to him.

Terry looked at Kelima and said, "I don't think I mentioned it before. Make sure you watch out for minions."

"Minions? What kind of minions?"

"Um," Terry said. "Evil minions?"

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"Could you maybe narrow that down for me a little?"

"Survey says? No."

"So, I'm just supposed to watch out for something?"

"It's a good habit to be in. Think of it as practice. It'll help ensure no murder-birds get the drop on you."

"Those things are not subtle," said Kelima will giving him the stink-eye.

"Everything is subtle when the trees and underbrush are dense enough."

"Do you see thick bunches of trees and underbrush on the side of this mountain?"

Terry glanced up toward the distant peak. There was some plant growth, but it couldn't really be called cover. Most of the plants looked like something from a Charlie Brown Christmas special. So, unless there were some ordinary snakes or maybe some rabbits and chipmunks up there, she had a point. Unless there are death weasels hiding up there, thought Terry.

"Hey, do you guys have death weasels here?" he asked.

Kelima stopped short, gave him a startled look, and asked, "What are death weasels?"

"Fuck," said Terry.

"What?"

"I might have just guaranteed we're going to come across those."

"Why would—" she started, before pointing at him. "After all the shit you gave me for doing that exact thing?! Now, we're going to have to fight—"

Terry clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Don't say it again," commanded Terry. "It might not count."

He released her jaw when it looked like she meant to bite his hand.

"Why wouldn't it count?" she asked.

"Because the question was information gathering, and that particular monster doesn't seem to be a thing that you have here. It's kind of a gray area, but that might not have been a death flag."

"Death flag? What kind of world did you come from where they have flags for death?"

"No, it's not like—" started Terry before changing his mind. "A terrible one. It was so, so terrible."

He decided that he just didn't have the strength to get into that explanation. Easier to let her hang on to that wrong idea. There might even be a chance in the future to turn it into a joke at her expense.

"So, it wasn't just you. Everyone there was completely bizarre and unhinged?"

Terry thought that over for a moment. He recalled the countless subcultures he'd heard about, and all the weird shit that so-called normal people got up to behind closed doors.

"Yep," he agreed. "Every last one of them."

She shook her head at him and said, "If we encounter those particular things farther up this mountain and survive it, I'm going to hit you with a really big stick."

"You have to know by now that won't actually hurt me, right?"

"I know, but if I time it right, you might fall off the side."

"You know that probably won't kill me either. It would also leave you stranded on the side of this mountain for however long it takes me to get back up there."

"I know, and it would be really inconvenient for me. But I'll feel so much better after I do it."

"Well, you do you, I guess."

Feeling far more vigilant now that he might have invoked the appearance of death weasels, Terry started back up the path. He was glad that they'd cut it with switchbacks instead of winding around the entire mountain. Now that he thought about it, though, he wasn't sure why anyone would do it that way. If you had the know-how to cut the path, you ought to have the wherewithal to keep it contained to one side of the mountain. It was probably shorter and more efficient if nothing else. Unless it's an author who wanted to drag out the climb so they could have more random encounters and fight scenes, he realized. After considering that, he was more grateful for the switchbacks.

The climb continued to be peaceful for most of the afternoon. Courtesy of their status as magic users of one kind or another, Terry and Kelima made exceptionally good time and were about two-thirds of the way up. Like all good things, though, that peace came to an end. One moment, they were just walking along. The next moment, there was rustling all around them. Terry looked around and saw countless beady eyes the color of blood tucked into rodent faces.

"You better get your big stick ready," said Terry.

Kelima, who had long since stopped being vigilant, swept her head around.

"What are those?" she asked in a resigned voice.

"Unless I miss my guess, those would be death weasels."

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