The memories had come back as a torrent at first, the obvious things; what it was like to wake up and have the expansive lake be the first thing she saw; the sunrise and sunset; the way the air smelled up here; how it felt to sit on her favourite boulder; the shape and colour of the forests and plains far below. It had almost been too much, as though these old loves were so strong as to overpower the memories she had made since. For a short time she had struggled to clearly remember what Crystherium Lake had been like, the plants and rocks and views that she had fallen in love with there. It had been a strange thing to find that she did miss the range in Lacerta, deeply missed it, with a longing she had only before felt for this mountain. She had had to calmly tell herself that it was okay.

Other, lesser recollections had come back in a slower but steady stream, minor things which didn't usually feature in a trip down nostalgia road. The way that rock had always looked like a bird taking off, or that family of goats which were always standing on that impossibly steep part of the mountain she could never reach, or that small tunnel under the overhang which looked well-kept but whose owner had always remained a mystery. These things were spotted and recalled with a smile or laugh, usually, for as a youth Bella had naively sought nothing but the beautiful and amusing, her gaze blind to all else. That had changed when they came for her, souring her pure love with doubt and guilt, but Wolesh had whisked her away before she could form any bitter memories.

The smallest memories came almost unnoticed, though she was thankful for them this day. The sky had been dense with clouds when she had awoken, and, having spent her day seeking the highest point of the mountain, her patience had been rewarded by the unique experience of being swallowed by white. The fog had been thin at first, a mere blur which obscured distant details, but had thickened with incredible speed, and within half an hour Bella could barely make out her own front paws. Where once the world had been laid at her feet, at this highest of points, now there was nothing but damp, cool, soft white. Was this what it was like to be blind?

Though she could have sat for hours, utterly content, Belladonna only permitted herself brief personal excursions these days, for she had more than just herself to think about. Though her children had their own plans for the day, she knew, the mother felt most comforted when she was within easy access of them. Independent though they were - well, most of them - she would not forgive herself if they had need of her and she was not there. As such, and with no end in sight of the low clouds, she was forced to make her way back down, effectively blinded. The smallest memories came back at that moment, the memories she had unconsciously forged during her uncountable adventures and excursions all over this mountain, the subtle snippets of knowledge which guided her feet safely down the mountain's peak without need for her eye's assistance. She caught on quickly, realising how her feet knew where to go before she even thought about it, and took great pleasure in it. Though she knew that her familiarity with the pathways and passages of the Dire was immense, it was a marvel to see it realised in such a pure way.

At ease with her movements, stepping lightly from rock to rock, foothold to foothold, she fell into an easy autopilot, humming softly to herself.

The air was clearing, slowly. The clouds had come low today, though she imagined that they remained at a lofty, unreachable height to those wolves who lived on the ground, obvious to the fog which had embraced the mountain so wholeheartedly. How many others were lost in this fog, she wondered, or how many had chosen not to venture out because of it? How many were using it to their advantage, whether to hunt or trespass or sneak unseen? The eyes were the only disabled feature in one's head, though, and their removal meant that the others were forced to heighten else the whole diminished, and as such her ears did pick up a faint voice, one which might have been otherwise missed.

Pausing in her travel, Bella turned her head towards the sound, ears pushing forwards, eyes open but only able to make out the shape of the ground nearest to her. Her nose sought the air but found nothing; whoever was singing of her scent, the wind must have been working in his favour alone. Curiosity piqued at the oddity, and head swirling with the excitement of the entire cloud-swallowing experience, Bella did not hesitate.

"From a dead place!" she laughed, concentrating on any response so she could accurately pinpoint the stranger's direction. "I would be careful, this sort of weather is known to herald the non-living."

There - she found him, by voice at least, as he sang out his own exuberant response to the game that she had happily continued. Bella laughed softly at the disembodied words that floated through the fog at her, enjoying the folly and ridiculousness. Truly there was no way of knowing who awaited her further below, for the voice was that of a stranger and, save for his gender (and perhaps age, she believed he might be youthful still) she could hazard no guesses as to the man's appearance or status. How mysterious, how appropriate for this setting! It amused her that he seemed to be thinking the same thing of her, if out-loud, but it was no surprise; hidden from each other, by cloud and distance and rock, she wondered what images he was concocting in his mind of this laughing spectral woman.

It wasn't long until she found out that question exactly; hearing the clatter of stones as he walked, she slowly resumed her own path down, hoping to stumble upon this man in their shared blindness. Or perhaps he was far enough down to not be so swathed in white? He threw out two possibilities as to Bella's identity, and she almost laughed again at them, for were these the two versions of his mysterious wraith that he hoped for? Somehow she thought that he would enjoy a youthful, blushing companion, someone to giggle at how cleverly he wound his words.

"My battle scars are as real but invisible as I am," she called back with a touch of sobriety, continuing to leisurely pursue the direction that she had last heard his voice. "You are brave to engage a phantom so boldly, boy. What if I was forged to be a malevolent spirit, shackled here to lure young men to their untimely end? What if you find no angels here?"

"Then you can lure me to my end," he replied after a pause, and his gumption made her peals of laughter ring out again. It felt strangely appropriate to be playing the part of a spirit tied to the mountain, as though she was re-incorporating the part of herself which had always been left here.

Apparently her voice belied her true nature, a notion which tickled Bella pink. Was she so easily read to everyone she met, or was this a unique circumstance? Did a voice, and choice of words, carry the essence of a being, there to uncover if you paid attention? At the notion, she made sure to pay closer attention to her mystery company's intonation, though she was fairly sure she had a good understanding of his character already.

"It seems you've found me out," she cooed, her body still effortlessly finding the next safe foothold despite the preoccupation of the fore of her mind. Those tiny, subtle memories were thoroughly well-established. "I'll take the role of mountain spirit, but I promise my song won't lead you to your doom. Only to beautiful things." If the fog had not loomed, she would have eagerly shared those beautiful things, those which lingered in her mind at all times, but without the dense white air, this encounter would not have happened. That would have been an opportunity missed. It occurred to her that this was the first playful, lighthearted exchange she had experienced while back on the mountain, a break from the weight of nostalgia and realisation that so much had changed. Her favourite meetings with strangers had all happened on the ground, with @Veho and @Mirren and @Ash and @Kenelm and - none so happy on the mountain, none so fondly remembered. Perhaps it was because she spent most of her time with her children up here, but that didn't deny that all her passing social delights had been down there, save for this...

Was her mountain trying to tell her something?