Abianarin hears Cang’s scrabbling, protects her dark eyes against the dust and stones he disturbs. Soon enough, another rope is thrown down. As Shyan and Fassn labour to climb it — Shyan bearing not only the weight of her own gear, but Cang’s warhammer as well — Abianarin wills the shifting of her genetic material. The flesh of her forearms shudders and ripples. She cracks the bones in her neck. From each forearms grows two rudimentary, segmented forelimbs. With the aid of these grasping things, she scales the cliff to meet the others at its lip.