The other girl re-did the ties slightly better than before, but still Sorra found herself walking forward, feet moving of their own accord. She slipped the sickle into her belt and tugged off her fur-lined gloves with her teeth. The air was bitter cold, but she'd felt worse. She'd be fine for a few minutes.

"Sorra Mistborn," she said, as the goblin came into view. Again the epithet, the one no one ever used but her father. She shrugged it away. "From down there," she said, pointing slightly down the mountain. Not that it would be visible, even still standing. There was something familiar and almost comforting about the goblin, so much so she didn't whip out the sickle once more. Sorra thought she'd seen her before, but the memory was hazy, like another life. Had she taught her a song, once?

Sorra pushed that memory, like all the rest, away. Then she pointed at the girl and her clothes. "Can I?"