The mountain stretched wider now. The slope tapered into a kind of ridge that was flat enough to walk three across, steep enough on either side to make slipping a regrettable life choice.
The snow here had been crushed down by wind and weight. Not fresh. Not soft. Old and bitter, the kind that didn't melt, just got angrier.
Lindarion adjusted his grip on the sword at his hip. He hadn't drawn it, but it helped to feel the weight there. Like something tethering him to the moment.
Ren walked slightly ahead, still looking around like she was sightseeing instead of marching through mountain frost.
Meren muttered something about his boots being too tight. Ardan stayed close to the rear. Lira took the middle. Eyes sharp. Shoulders squared.
They didn't speak much now.
The quiet had settled too cleanly. Like it didn't want to be interrupted.
That was the first sign.
The second came when the wind dropped again, not just softening, but stopping. Abrupt. Like a held breath.
