They descended to the plateau in the morning.
The cliff edge had a natural break in it—not a path anyone had cut, a fault in the stone that had been there long enough to weather smooth. He went first. The rest followed without discussion about order.
The plateau was larger than it had looked from above. A kilometre across at its widest point, the stone flat and old and grey. No vegetation grew directly on the stone surface. Around the plateau's edges, where the cliff soil met the plateau level, scrub and highland grass held on. On the stone itself: nothing. Just the stone.
