His encounter with the spirits of the hot spring haunted Yucca for a long time. He took a different route up the mountain, exploring strange crumbling worlds above the clouds, but never could he shake the feeling that they were watching him, even here at the top of the sky.
Why couldn’t he move on? He had only returned what was stolen from them, after all. Even if they did find him again, pursuing him through the moss-covered maze of Machu Picchu, he had done nothing to offend them, had he? He contemplated his predicament grumpily while watching a llama chew the snow-chilled grass with slow, circular motions. The llama didn’t seem to feel that anything was amiss in her home. Did she know that spirits lurked in the hot springs on the way back down the mountain? Could mortal animals see them at all, or were they only visible to esks?
They weren’t esks, though, and that’s what troubled him. He’d sniffed around plenty of geysers back home and never seen anyone