The wind had changed.
The warm, dry summer air, which had been piping up from the southern desert for the past few months, had shifted abruptly. Moist air, with a tinge of chill to it, suddenly began moving in from the north, and with it came the clouds, and then the rainfall.
The north winds were harsher than the southern breezes. Each passing gust flapped and tugged at the canvas awnings that were set up over the entrances to the Caveholds. The swinging rope bridges creaked and clattered as they swung in the open air and occasionally knocked against the cliff sides. There would be days during the winter when the wind gusts would get so hazardous that maneuvering across these bridges was an act of suicide. But no such gusts had come yet.
The change in the wind also set off a particular buzz of anticipation from the denizens of the cliff-side village. Everyone, from the Village Elder all the way down to the youngest toddler, knew what the seasonal shift meant; it was time f