Calla sighed, slumping against the crate and wiping the sweat from her forehead. What a scare. She had been so close to death... yet she had clung to the edges and swung herself back up the cliff. Before she knew it, she was actually crying, both of fear and remorse. Yet another dead by her hooves, and she knew that if she were to survive, then there were surely more to come.
She decided to spend the night hidden in the gold Cornucopia, hidden behind crates and under the shelter of warm blankets. Her knives rested beside her hooves, her bow and quiver easily within reach, and her horn ready to warn her if an intruder came near.