At the very least, the night outside was quiet--no other lurking spiders waited outside, and no Eyehooks swept in from above. Though still cold, and dark, the area around Blackberry at least appeared empty.
Unfortunately, there was no sign, either, of the quillmouse. No flash or glimmer of gold lay nearby to guide the goose's way; unsurprising, perhaps, given the size of Hydra as a whole.
@Blackberry
It would take more searching, of course; there were many massive ravines and canyons, some hundreds of feet deep--with switchback trails and thick dead brush--in which the Quillmouse could hide.
But there was a trace: a faint golden sparkle that seemed to have been left along the ground, in places. A trail, at least, to follow; and for now, the night remained quiet.
@Blackberry
The trail was not a short one, though it was, at least, clear of enemies.
That did not mean that it was without its dangers, though. First, the Golden Quillmouse had wound its way up along a switchback trail--narrow, with loose soil and rock underfoot, off which an unwary or a weary traveller could fall at any time. This reached the top of a low mesa, and here the faintest golden sparkles led across its top. The plateau seemed to be one of the lowest, perhaps unattractive to the high-roosting Eyehooks; at the very least, none were roosting here. Only old, loose bones, should Blackberry make it this far, littered the rock.
From here, at the other side, a second trail led down: equally narrow, equally dangerous, and just as likely to pitch off an exhausted goose with one lame leg.
The trail, glittering here and there, then led down into a deep ravine: one steeped in darkness despite the approach of dawn, and with the dim rush of a river visible in its faraway floor. From the top of the mesa, Blackberry could likely see that the trail down would be nearly a mile of twisting curves, back and forth below one another, before finally settling into the ravine.
In the distance beyond lay the haze of the Dead Marshes.
Blackberry must roll for ascending the first trail, and again for descending the second. She may continue to attempt until she succeeds, unless she perishes in the fall or is too wounded or tired to continue. A critical fail will result in severe injury or death.
@Blackberry
The ravine was a broad one, and deep; Blackberry had descended far to enter it. At its floor ran the river: a very broad, but very shallow flow of water trickling over the rock. This had, in part, carved this canyon, and the water flowed for hundreds of yards before it'd exit into the marshes.
Here, though, the golden trail led to the water's edge. And that was good, for though it smelled a little metallic, it was still sweet, clean, and fairly fresh. It was water, and not poison; and at its edges grew all manner of plants, from sedges and grasses to ferns that trailed into the flow. None were large--likely purged by periodic floods--but there was food to eat, at least.
And the golden glow that darted in and out among them, in the distance, suggested that the Quillmouse wasn't far. It might have been scavenging off the plants, itself--or perhaps snagging and eating the moths and dragonflies that darted here and there over the running water.
A pair of Scale Deer were drinking upstream, and stepping daintily through the water. Undoubtedly such bounty would attract life--and that life, predators; but so far, it seemed clear enough.
@Blackberry