It's not supposed to snow in the South Forest, but the weather in the second-emptiest corner of Shelha is not the only thing behaving strangely. When an ex-tyrant started acting up again, Sethral had hoped it meant the end of lazy days and monotonou...
The first thing Silversand noticed was that the tunnel was not quite dark. As her eyes adjusted, she found she could see quite clearly, from the stairs beneath her to the pale shape of the walls ahead, even after the light from above was gone. The stairwell circled the boulder at some distance, broadening until even Jay could have passed along it comfortably. Not that he actually would. He didn't like tight spaces.
Silversand pulled up short as her paw missed a foothold.
"What is it?" said Whipper.
"A crumbled step. Watch your paws."
She looked it over, but the stone's disintegration looked like a product of time, not an ancient battle.
The tunnel had completed a half circuit of the boulder and reached a tail-length's depth when suddenly the wall beside Silversand disappeared. She suppressed a squeal of delight.
Her step was level with the ceiling of an almost perfectly circular little room. It was lit by the glow of orange mosses that coated its flat ceiling and dripped down its walls. Hugging the drop to their right, the stairs continued their descent above ledges and alcoves before bottoming out into rich green cushion. The smell gave it away. Thick, squishy moss coated every lower surface. The alcoves filling the walls were lined; the ledges running between them were coated top and sides. Even the walls were padded. Moss rolled over the floor, which beneath its cushion seemed to be made of small boulders. Silversand let Whipper take the lead. The air was still but fresh-smelling as they descended to the bottom of the stairs.
Whipper reached out and pressed the moss. "It's dry!"
Silversand pressed it too. While cool and soft like moss should be, the green pillows were as free of damp as the sand showing in chinks between the boulders beneath them. The moss she had pressed bore no mark. Whipper pressed it again, harder this time, then put his whole weight on the cushy mound. Each time it sprang back undamaged. Whipper grinned at Silversand. She grinned back.
"Sethral! Jay!" shouted the Forester up the stairs. "You have to come see this!"
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"No poisons, no traps. I bet this place was a war hideout, or a storm hideout or something!"
"Stormhole..." Sethral eyed Silversand in amusement.
The cat bristled. "I was getting to that!"
"You heard her; it's safe!" said Whipper.
They took one step and stopped again, each defiantly waiting for the other to go first. Whipper made an exasperated noise. He darted behind them and shoved them both head-over-heels into the moss with startling strength. Their retaliations collided. United by a quest for revenge, they scrabbled to their paws to pursue the laughing Forester across and around the room.
Jay turned his attention back to the cave. The ceiling mosses' glow did not quite obscure the warm colours of the walls and the floor moss, and they grew thicker here than anywhere else in the fort. The floor mosses were a new kind entirely, unglowing and large. Their tough outer layer explained their lack of water loss, and the comfortably dry air. It also explained their resilience. The claw-length, stalked stars bounced back undamaged after almost any blow.
