The sidewinder nest was not new. Pascal worked this out over the course of the evening, sitting on the upper ledge of the Sunspire column and processing what he had observed at the spring entrance. The coil positions of the four visible snakes were too settled, too integrated with the corridor geometry, to represent a recent arrival.
Animals that have just moved into a new territory hold their bodies differently — tighter, more alert, oriented toward multiple threat angles simultaneously. These four had their attention oriented outward, toward the corridor approach. Not inward, toward each other and the spring.
That meant they were confident the space behind them was secure. That meant they had been there long enough to know the spring corridor thoroughly. He estimated they had moved in at least six days ago.
Possibly longer. He had not checked the spring in two weeks. In two weeks, a sidewinder nest could go from arrival to full establishment.
The question that mattered now was not how long they had been there. It was how many. A sidewinder nest could range from three individuals sharing a temporary shelter to a stable group of ten or more using a productive water-source location through an extended dry period.
Four visible did not tell him the total. He needed a count. The problem was access.
The spring corridor was a single-entry chokepoint. One entrance, one exit, the same path. Entering the corridor to count snakes required passing the four he had already seen, which required either a frontal approach that they would detect, or a route that did not exist.
He spent the evening looking for the route that did not exist. The canyon wall above the spring corridor was vertical for its lower forty feet. Above forty feet, there were ledge systems that he could use.
But the overhang at the rim of the corridor would require a descent of approximately twelve feet on a near-vertical surface to reach a position above the spring crack itself. He had made descents like that. Not in the dark.
Not without knowing what was directly below him. He filed the option but did not commit to it yet. Kira found him on the ledge after dark.
"I talked to the collared lizards," she said.
"The male's territory boundary runs along the top of the south wall, above the spring corridor. He says he's seen movement down there for at least ten days. More than four."
"How many more?" Pascal asked.
"He's a collared lizard," Kira said.
"He can count to about six before he stops tracking individuals and starts using 'many' instead."
"So more than six," Pascal said.
"More than six," Kira confirmed.
A nest of more than six sidewinders at a single water source entrance was a siege. They were not going to move because of harassing behavior or proximity demonstrations. They had chosen the location deliberately and had enough numbers to hold it against any challenge from the canyon's existing residents.
The only strategy that would work was one that removed or redirected the nest as a group. Pascal thought about the corridor geometry. Narrow entrance.
Deep shade. Spring water at the far end. The corridor had one other property that he had noted over years of using it: it was a natural wind channel.
When the afternoon thermals built up on the canyon floor, the temperature differential between the open floor and the shadowed corridor created a reliable air current that ran from the open canyon toward the spring crack — a cooling breeze that the corridor's residents used the way he used shade, as a thermal management tool. If that air current were disrupted or reversed, the corridor would become less hospitable.
Not immediately. Not in a way that would drive the snakes away by itself. But as one element of a larger disruption strategy, it was worth understanding.
He would need to look at the upper corridor approach from above. He would need Kira on the canyon floor as a distance observer. He would need to do it before dawn, when the snakes' thermal activity would be at its lowest and their response times slowest.
He told Kira the plan. She listened without interrupting.
"Before dawn," she said when he finished.
"Before dawn," he confirmed.
"That gives us about four hours," she said.
"Yes," he said.
"Then we should sleep," she said.
It was practical advice. He took it.
The canyon walls glowed amber in the late afternoon light around Sage.