iv) few trees intercept them

Few trees intercept them before Cang spots the dry, ivory cliffs, sprouting with stunted, amber plantlife. He unbuckles his heavy warhammer from his back and peers up the nearly-sheer face. “Provide me your hook and perhaps I might scale this,” he says, studying the angle of ascent, potential footholds, dangerous spots. With great force, Shyan throws her grappling hook high up the cliff. Cang gives it a tug.
“Careful, Cang,” says Abia as he hoists himself aloft.

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