Moki, always impatient, knew how to push her along. She meant it. Its face was a 5.10 non-trad pump, if you can imagine, but up the lithe little botanist had ascended like a leaf in an updraft, not the full seventeen hundred feet, of course, nobody can do that; this skilled young woman had gone up only as far she could, where, luckily, she had happened upon a sunny small rock strewn cwm at about 66 feet, garnished with a lone improbable Golden Mariposa. She had to finish the work of the day to start the work of the night. Well, here she was at the outcrop with Moki barking instructions from below. Now it was only six jumps rock to rock, and she would be at her Master’s door. You’re no eagle with a nest among the stars, woman. “Zip. Plop — she alighted into a crouch right in front of him.
