She emerged from the shadows as if the granite and rhyolite wall was giving birth to her. In the half-moon’s meager light the hem of her robe seemed to be soaking up natal blood. But this was not birthing fluid, just a frigid rain. She was young but not that young. The inquisitive couldn’t tell her age, though. The black cowl of her robe was too deep for prying eyes or the cold precipitation to penetrate. The evidence of her presence, though, followed her through a tiny door in the huge blocks that was almost invisible. Anyone watching could follow the wet trail of her sopping hem as she silently eased down the torch-lit interior passageway. Her hands were protected inside the robe’s long sleeves. She held them to her breast as if she was afraid her thumping heart would leap from her. Regally aloof and silent, inside she was terrified. As she should have been. […]