She'd read the articles. Scrolled through dozens of them in the wake of the skirmish, hoping not to see any familiar names. That was the hardest part about tragedy, knowing that it always touched someone, even if it wasn't you this time around. And was only a matter of time before someone came calling, before someone asked her to make the journey to Mt. Pyre.

Maybe she should have said no. Then she could have avoided seeing the craters carved into the face of the ancient stone. The way everything seemed to be holding it's breath, waiting for the next big thing, or maybe the mountain had just given up. Maybe the battle had taken the life out of it at long last.

Hazel knew how it should have been, how it had been before when she'd made the climb to perform a sending. There should have been ghosts swirling about in the mist, scaring travelers half to death, mourners dotting the mountainside, solemn and kneeling, paying their respects to departed friends. Instead, there was only silence as Hazel followed the winding trail that lead to the summit and Hazel felt very much alone under the weight of it.

Her destination, according to the pin her client had dropped on her Maps app was about two-thirds of the way to the summit. A grueling hike if you followed the trail that was all steep inclines and rapidly thinning air. A much gentler one if you took the path that wound its way around the mountain again and again in long, gentle, meandering slopes. It would take longer to reach her destination this way, but it would be kinder on her calves and lungs.  

Uncomfortable in the strange, weighty silence, Hazel took to whistling as she picked her way up the path, a merry little tune that was wholly at odds with the gloomy atmosphere. It did nothing to take the chill out of the air, but it made her feel less lonely somehow as each note found itself an echo, like the mountain itself was calling back to her. Suddenly, it was easier to imagine that life might come back to the mountain in time. Hazel found comfort in that thought. In the idea of ghosts, and people, and new life coming back to dot the mountainside, of voices rising up out of the fog, making everyone on the mountain feel a little less alone as they paid their respects. 

And...was that a voice? Words traveled on the wind, swirling out of the fog like a phantom. Hazel stopped whistling. Started listening instead. The voice was familiar, but the last time she'd heard it, it'd been infused with cheer. Some of it forced, some of it genuine. Now, it was like all the light and levity had gone out of it, snuffed like a candle by the hand of grief.

"Isaac?" Hazel called out to the fog shrouded path. And maybe she should have left that too. Left Isaac to his grief, for grief is a private thing, but she couldn't stand the idea of him being all alone up here in the fog, and the weight, and the silence, with the worry that his words wouldn't reach anyone at all. 

Had she been mistaken? It's not like they'd spent that much time together since his first visit to the shop with has cadre of costumed babies on All Hallow's Eve. It could be someone else entirely. That would be awkward! But no, he was calling out again, and Hazel was pretty sure that it was Isaac. 

Not wanting to alarm him by popping unceremoniously out of the mist behind him, the little witch called out again as she stepped off the path. "It's Hazel! Don't move, I'll come to you. Oh, but maybe say something else. The mist is pretty thick and it'll make it easier to find you." 

He didn't sound like he was too far away. He'd been close enough for his words to carry anyway, if not quite close enough for her to make out what he'd been saying until he'd raised his voice to respond to her. 

Stepping off the path, Hazel slowly made her way through the mist toward the last place she'd heard Isaac's voice, hoping that he'd humor her and keep talking. All the while, she kept her gaze fixed upon the ground, making sure that she didn't accidentally trip over any of the makeshift graves that dotted the mountainside. She didn't actually know if there were any in her path, or on this part of the slope at all, since she could barely see a few inches past her own face, but it wouldn't do to disturb someone's final resting place, so she resolved to take extra care.