He stopped his ascent to rest in the shade of an outcropping. The air was thin here: he rested often. He pulled a chunk of ore from his pocket to roll it around in his hands. Worth It.
He’d been coming up a year before he even saw a Grey for the first time; it had been a fleeting glimpse from a distance, movement among the rocks above. Now, suddenly, a party of hunters stared at him from twenty paces. He smiled, waved. I hope they know what that means.
One came forward and knelt to draw in the dust.