When Artemis and Gale finally reached the bottom the cliff, Trace led them into the trees. Near a large one that provided some semblance of shelter from the wind, they found a large patch of snow that had been crushed down and the remains of a crude firepit. Trace waved them away, paced around the campsite, and frowned. “Hmm. Not a single false trail. Amanita’s either too stupid or too short on time for that, I suppose.” Her horn glowed; the logs pulsed through a rapid series of colors, which seemed to disappoint her. “Shame. She seems to be good at darkness magic, so-”